


Arcadia

by paperstorm



Series: Arcadia [1]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: 5sos as hockey players, Alternate Universe, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Minor Violence, Muke - Freeform, Past Child Abuse, Romance, because I have dirty enablers for friends, muke hate each other at the beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-03-13 17:32:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 100,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3390182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperstorm/pseuds/paperstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Crisp, thin air. The rough scrape of blades on ice. The jumbled, unintelligible echo of male voices, ringing off the rafters and bouncing through the empty seats. The familiar smell, sweaty equipment and rubber flooring and Zamboni fluid. Luke’s taken to closing his eyes sometimes, cutting off his primary sense, and just absorbing the noise and the scent and the feel of cool air on his cheeks. That way, regardless of where he is, an arena still feels like home. </i><br/>Or, an AU in which Luke is a small-town hockey superstar who gets drafted to the Montreal Canadiens, Ashton is the bubbly team Captain, Calum is a defenceman with a bad habit of settling on-ice conflicts with his fists, and Michael is the NHL's first openly gay player.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. un

**Author's Note:**

>   
>     
> Disclaimer: Almost every character in this story is a real person. It is a work of complete fiction and none of the view expressed by these characters represent the real human whose name I have used. See the notes at the end for a full list of the people I have absolutely no right to put in this fic but did anyway.

Arcadia (är-kā′dē-ə)  
_noun_  
**1.** any real or imaginary place offering peace and simplicity.  
  
****

**PROLOGUE**

  
“Are you ready?” Ben asks. He comes into the room and shoves a pile of clothes aside so he can sit on the edge of Luke’s bed.  
  
Luke looks around, mentally taking stock of what he’s already done today and what he has left to do before tomorrow. “Almost. I think. I’m mostly packed.”  
  
“No, I mean, like … inside,” Ben clarifies. “Ready to leave. To do this.”  
  
“Oh.” Luke isn’t sure he wants to think too much about that. Because, no, he isn’t ready. He’s been away before. He’s gone on tournaments. Spent nights in hotel rooms. Weeks in training camps. But this is real – permanent. He isn’t going away for a weekend with his team. He’s leaving for good, moving out, moving to a different  _country_. “I guess.”  
  
“Which means, no.”  
  
Luke chews his bottom lip and looks at his brother. Everyone says how much they look alike. Jack, too. Luke’s always loved when people point that out. It makes him feel like he belongs somewhere. Like he belongs to  _them_. They’re his big brothers and his protectors and he hasn’t really needed them to be in a good number of years but he still finds comfort in knowing they’re always there. That they’d drive across town in the middle of the night to pick Luke up if his ride ditched him for a girl; that they’d beat a kid’s teeth in if he called Luke a bad name. Luke hasn’t quite figured how he’s going to exist without them.  
  
He sighs, and sits next to Ben. “Yeah.”  
  
Ben tosses an arm around his shoulders. “You’re gonna be brilliant.”  
  
“You think?” Luke isn’t so sure.  
  
“Rookie of the year. For sure.”  
  
Luke manages a small smile. “That’s called the Calder.”  
  
“You’re gettin’ it, whatever it’s called. I wanna be there at that, whatever, awards banquet thing. Then I wanna go home and rub all my friends’ faces in the fact that their younger siblings are working at McDonald’s and mine is the best hockey player on the planet.”  
  
“Sidney Crosby is the best hockey player on the planet,” Luke corrects. “And thanks, no pressure or anything.”  
  
Ben laughs, tousles Luke’s hair, and lets his arm fall away. Luke wants the contact back. He’s more nervous than he’s willing to admit, even to Ben.  
  
“What if I suck?” Luke worries, folding his hands together in his lap and picking at a hangnail.  
  
“You won’t.”  
  
“How do you know?”  
  
“Because you  _don’t_  suck. This isn’t something you’re doing for the first time,” Ben reminds him. “You’ve been kicking asses all over rinks for your whole life.”  
  
“I know, but …” Luke sighs. “This isn’t junior anymore. Every person in the NHL was the best player on their team when they were a kid. Then they stick us all together.”  
  
“Luke, you went to Worlds. You’ve won cups, you were a first round pick, man. You’re awesome. You’re gonna be amazing.”  
  
“He’s right, kiddo,” Jack’s voice says from the doorway. He comes in and joins them, sitting on the other side of Luke and tugging him in for a noogie.  
  
“Stop,” Luke complains, laughing and shoving Jack off.  
  
There’s a shaky sigh from across the room, and Luke looks up again to find his mother staring at the three of them with her hands clasped in front of her chest and tears in her eyes.  
  
“My boys,” she says, with a watery smile.  
  
“You’re gonna have to stop crying at some point. You’ll dehydrate,” Luke tells her.  
  
“You’re just so young, and you’re going so far away.”  
  
“Not helpful, Mom,” Ben says.  
  
Liz shakes her head, like she’s trying to compose herself. A lump rises in Luke’s throat. “I’m sorry. I’m so excited for you, baby. I really am. We’re just going to miss you.”  
  
“Me too,” Luke mumbles.  
  
“Do you have your passport?”  
  
Luke nods, and points to the backpack he’s taking with him on the plane. “Triple checked.”  
  
“Phone? Health card? Visa?”  
  
“I’ve got everything.”  
  
“You know where you’re going when you land?”  
  
“Someone’s picking me up. From the team.”  
  
“Okay.” Liz smiles again, and fresh tears spill from her eyes.  
  
“Mom,” Luke groans. Tears prickle at his eyes too, and he’s so not crying in front of Ben and Jack.  
  
“Sorry, sorry.” Liz raises her hands in surrender, and then leaves, calling over her shoulder that dinner will be ready in ten.  
  
“You’d think she loves you or something,” Jack jokes.  
  
“Yeah.” Luke sniffs a little and wipes at his nose with the back of his hand. So much for not getting emotional.  
  
“Aww, Lewi,” Ben teases, but he tugs Luke into a sideways hug anyway. Jack wraps himself around Luke from the other side.  
  
“We’ll miss you too. We just won’t cry about it,” Jack says.  
  
Luke laughs. “Okay. Fair enough.”  
  
“Text us immediately if anyone gives you a hard time, got it? We’ll be on the next flight.”  
  
Luke laughs again. He definitely won’t be doing that, but it’s cool that Ben offered. He’s probably serious about it, too. “Thanks. I will.”  
  
“And kick some serious ass,” Jack adds.  
  
Luke swallows over the lump in his throat and tries to keep calm. He can’t quite manage it. This is too big, too scary. He’s doing it – the ticket is booked and the team is expecting him tomorrow so there’s no turning back now – but that doesn’t mean he isn’t freaked out. Excited, too. In a way that makes him feel sick. “I’ll try.”


	2. deux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we goooo. My hope is to post a chapter a week. We'll see if life lets me stick to it.

The thump of the wheels touching pavement jostles Luke in his seat, churning his already upset stomach. He’s only been on a few planes in his life, and he isn’t a fan. Especially when there’s turbulence. It’s something he’s going to have to get used to quick – professional hockey players tackle three or four flights a week, at least. The screech is louder in his ears than his racing heart as the plane skids along the runway, laws of motion warring against aerodynamics as it slows. Luke closes his eyes and tries to keep breathing. He can do this. Ben was right – Luke’s been on skates since he was old enough to stand. A stick feels right in his hand; he’s a clumsy mess sometimes on two feet but on the ice he’s strong, powerful, agile. He was drafted in the first round to an Original Six team, he’s about to live the dream of every small town kid who’s ever strapped on a pair of blades. He was born to do this, and now he’s here and it’s happening and he’s determined to be excited about it instead of terrified. Or at least, he’s determined to lie to himself until he starts believing it.  
  
He follows the trail of passengers as they exit the plane and make their way down hallways towards baggage claim, not paying attention to much outside of the ankles of the person walking directly in front of him. Cowboy boots. That’s weird. Luke glances up, and yep, ten gallon hat. It fits with the rest of the ensemble but as far as Luke knows there aren’t a lot of cowboys in Montreal. He must be a tourist. Luke wonders where the plane came from before it picked him up in Ohio, in a city that never quite felt like home in the two years Luke’s family lived there so he could play.  
  
Luke scans the sea of people milling around the baggage carousels as he rides slowly down the escalator – the thought belatedly occurring to him that he has no idea what he’s looking for. He talked to Coach Therrien on the phone a few weeks ago and was told  _someone_  would be here to meet him, but Luke doesn’t know who. He panics for just a moment as he watches people reach the bottom of the escalator and one by one run to loved ones or get wrapped up in hugs and greetings and  _I missed you!_ s, because what if they forgot? Luke’s never been here before, he doesn’t even know where the rink is or where he’s staying or anything. It would be so fucking embarrassing to have to call for someone to come collect him.  
  
The moving staircase runs out of stairs and Luke steps off, just managing not to trip over his own feet as he does. He sort of shuffles off to one side so he isn’t in the way, trying to continue scanning the crowd while at the same time attempting not to make eye contact with anyone – he isn’t exactly famous, but he’s heard Canadian hockey fans are nuts and there’s always a chance people here already know who he is. Lots of people watch the draft in the spring. Luke knows he always did, before he was in it.  
  
Just as Luke’s pessimistic side has decided, that’s it, there’s no one here, he faintly catches the sound of what sounds like someone calling his name.  
  
Luke frowns and squints, and he hears it again, a male voice yelling “Hemmings!”, just before he notices an arm sticking out of the crowd as the person jumps a few times to be seen over the throng. Luke just stays where he is, unsure if he’s supposed to answer, and the person fights their way through the bodies and emerges, in basketball shorts and a sleeveless Nike shirt.  
  
“Are you Luke?” the guy asks, blinding Luke with a dimpled smile. When he manages to blink the spots out of his eyes, Luke recognizes him. Ashton Irwin. The captain. They sent the  _captain_  to pick Luke up. He thought it was going to be a trainer or an assistant or something, not the damn captain of the Montreal Canadiens. The left-winger with more power-play points than anyone in the league right now, the youngest captain since Jonathan Toews. Luke is thunderstruck.  
  
“Holy shit, it’s you,” is what comes out of Luke’s mouth, instead of  _yes_  or  _hello_  or something else non-mortifying.  
  
“It is! Call me Ashton.”  
  
“Um. Okay. Hi.”  
  
“You’re Luke, right? I’m not just freaking some random guy out right now?”  
  
Luke shakes his head. “No, I’m … yes.”  
  
“Awesome!” The flash of another smile, accompanied with crinkled hazel eyes, and bouncy, gold-colored curls that fall into them. “Good to meet you! They told me to look for tall and blond, but fuck. You’re a sky scraper.”  
  
“Why did they send you?” Luke asks bluntly, nerves getting the better of him and stealing whatever social graces his mother managed to drill into him between games.  
  
“Why, are you more into defencemen?” Ashton asks, his voice lilting and an eyebrow raised.  
  
“I just – ”  
  
“I’m kidding, dude.” Ashton punches him gently on the arm. “They didn’t, I offered. Figured it sorta goes with the C on my jersey, right? Being the welcome squad for the newbies? And you’re living with me too, so. That way no one has to make two stops.”  
  
Luke blinks and attempts to absorb that. “I – I am?”  
  
Ashton frowns. “Shit, didn’t they tell you anything?”  
  
“Not much.”  
  
“Clearly.” Ashton rolls his eyes. “Well, yeah. The roommate got traded at the end of last year, so. I told Coach you could bunk with me when you got here. That way I can show you the ropes and stuff.”  
  
“I … that’s … thank you,” Luke stutters, aware of how horrible a first impression he must be making right now. He can’t get his head around any of this. He assumed he’d be put up in a hotel until he could find himself a place. He assumed no one on the team would give two shits about him because he’s brand new and a nobody and they’re superstars.  
  
Ashton just shrugs, though, like it’s nothing. “Let’s get your bags.”  
  
Luke nods and follows him numbly toward the right carousel.  
  
“Are you excited?” Ashton asks as they wait, his face lit up like he truly cares.  
  
“Yes,” Luke answers honestly. “Nervous, too.”  
  
“I barely remember my first game. I was so worried about not embarrassing myself that I think I’ve blocked it out,” Ashton laughs. His laugh is bright and sparkly, like jingling change. Luke has seen him interviewed more times than he can remember over the last few years, and on camera Ashton is always so serious, so mature. This happy, giddy version of him doesn’t quite gel with the impression of him Luke got from TV. He likes this version better, anyway.  
  
“You scored,” Luke says. He remembers watching that game with his teammates back in Ohio. “On your second shift.”  
  
Ashton frowns and smiles at the same time, turning confused, bright eyes in Luke’s direction. “How the hell do you know that?”  
  
“Because it was iconic. You were one of the rookies everyone was buzzed about that year and then you scored like four minutes into your first game.”  
  
“So you’re a hockey fan, then.”  
  
“Aren’t you?” Luke spies one of his suitcases as he asks the question, and he leans forward to haul it off the belt.  
  
“Well, yeah. But you seem like one of those guys who watches every game they can and knows all the stats and tracks the trades.”  
  
“It’s kind of the lifestyle, in my house,” Luke says. “My dad played when he was younger. My brothers both played elite until they graduated. Now they play in rec leagues. We barely leave the house during playoffs.”  
  
“You’re the only one who ever went pro?”  
  
“Yeah.” Luke blushes a little, because he can feel the compliment coming before it does.  
  
“I bet they’re crazy proud of you.”  
  
Luke shrugs, and is saved from the need to respond when he sees his other bag. “Okay, that’s both of them.”  
  
Ashton claps him on the shoulder, and grabs the handle of the bigger suitcase. “Alright. Let’s show you Montreal.”  
  
*           *           *  
  
Ashton drives him around for a while in his beat up old Station Wagon – Luke was expecting a Ferrari or something but, on second thought, Ashton doesn’t seem the type – showing him the old part of downtown and a huge park. Luke has been to cities in Europe, and Montreal looks more like them than it does any other North American city he’s spent time in. Luke likes it. There’s no way he’d ever be able to find his way around on his own, but he doesn’t have a car anyway so it probably won’t matter. Ashton asks if Luke is hungry, and when Luke says yes Ashton takes them to a little burger place by the river and refuses to let Luke buy his own food. They sit at a patio table under a big Budweiser umbrella and chat, about nothing important. Ashton asks about Luke’s life – his  _story_ , as Ashton calls it – and seems genuinely interested in Luke’s answers. Luke asks what it feels like to be brand new and go up against greats like Ovechkin and Kane. Ashton says it’s terrifying at first, and the best thing ever. Then Ashton shows him the Bell Centre, and Luke’s heart speeds up just looking at it from the outside. He’s seen it on TV. He’s seen them all on TV. Luke feels like most of his life so far has consisted of seeing important things on TV. Now he’s about to be part of something that other people will see on TV. It’s overwhelming.  
  
The apartment building Ashton pulls his car into is huge, easily 30 stories tall. Luke is as astounded with it as everything else.  
  
“A bunch of other guys live in the same building,” Ashton tells him, slipping his key card through the lock and holding the door for Luke. “So there’s always a party at someone’s.”  
  
“Like who?”  
  
“Carey and Brendan live on the top floor, not together though. Em’s with Nate on fifteen. Oh, sorry, that’s what we call Alexei Emelin. And Cal’s across the hall from me, which is awesome.”  
  
“Meaning, Calum Hood,” Luke clarifies. His head is spinning. “And Brendan Gallagher and Nathan Beaulieu and Carey fucking  _Price_ , are you serious?”  
  
“Did you memorize the roster?” Ashton asks, with a crooked smile.  
  
Luke did, but he doesn’t say that. “Is there a player alive who hasn’t heard of Carey Price? He’s one of the best goalies in the league. Like, of all time. Shit, at the Olympics last year? He was a monster.”  
  
“You should tell him that. He’s real shy, it would be funny to watch him get all flustered.”  
  
“What’s Calum like?”  
  
“You mean because he’s a thug?” Ashton inquires, and yes, that is why Luke’s asking. The young defenceman is notorious for throwing checks like a pro wrestler and letting his fists do the talking if someone takes issue with it. Luke nods the affirmative. “He’s awesome. Honestly. I mean, welcome to your own funeral if you’re on the other team and you piss him off, but he’s not like that off the ice. He’s got our backs. Everyone loves him for it. Just wait until you get slammed with your first cheap shot. Cal will come in out of nowhere and show the prick what happens when you fuck with one of us.”  
  
The elevator takes them to the nineteenth floor. Ashton’s place is big compared to what Luke’s used to, but unpretentious and inviting. The furniture is comfortable-looking and a little worn, and Luke likes that Ashton isn’t the type to run out and replace something the second it starts looking well-used. The windows overlook the St. Lawrence and a sea of trees and buildings, and that part makes Luke feels like he’s in a rockstar’s penthouse. Ashton shows him an empty bedroom and helps him lug his suitcases into it, gets them up onto the bare mattress of the double bed so Luke can unpack. Luke surveys what will be his room, and his fingers tingle in anxiety mixed up with excitement, so he clenches them into fists at his sides.  
  
Ashton bumps Luke’s shoulder with his own. “It’s okay to need a minute to get your head around everything. This is a big step. We’ve all been there.”  
  
Luke nods. He really, really likes Ashton. “Thanks. For everything, man. Coming to get me, and letting me stay here, and being cool and everything.”  
  
“People were really nice to me when I was new,” Ashton tells him, with a causal shrug. “I like getting to pay it forward. I think I’m gonna pop in on Cal, you wanna come or did you want to unpack and stuff first?”  
  
Luke swallows. “No, I’ll come. I mean, if that’s okay. If you don’t mind.”  
  
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you to come,” Ashton assures him.  
  
Luke nods and follows him. Ashton crosses the small hallway and hammers on the opposite door, opening it without waiting for an answer.  
  
“If that’s fucking Gallagher – ” a loud voice begins, and then stops short. “Oh. Never mind.”  
  
Ashton giggles. “What did Gallagher do?”  
  
“That.”  
  
“Amazing,” Ashton pronounces with another laugh. He steps aside to let Luke into the room, and then shuts the door behind them. “This is Luke.”  
  
Luke takes in the sight of an apartment similar in layout to Ashton’s, only reversed. The dark haired, caramel skinned Calum Hood is flaked out on a big, squishy looking leather sofa, with socked feet up on the coffee table in front of him. Next to him is skinny jeans and a Metallica t-shirt and a mess of stop sign red hair, and Luke knows who that is too, without being introduced. Everyone does.  
  
Last year’s Calder Memorial winner. The highest scoring rookie in twenty years. The most shoot-out goals in one season in recorded history. The NHL’s first, and so far only, openly gay player. Luke knows more about him than anyone even though they’ve never met, because the media loves him. Obsesses over him. His obscene amounts of talent, his sexuality, constant speculation on his love life, his piercings and tattoos, the fact that he looks like a punk rocker instead of an athlete, the chip on his shoulder. His distaste for reporters just makes them crave him. He went to see a movie with a man who turned out to be his cousin last spring, and when TMZ shoved a camera in his face and asked if they were lovers, Michael almost punched the guy’s lights out. He’s on Sports Center at least twice a week even when he hasn’t done anything noteworthy. Luke might as well have just stepped into a room to find Bono staring back at him, pierced eyebrow raised. His heart thumps behind his ribs. God, he hopes they can’t hear it.  
  
“Hi. Hemmings, right?” Calum says brightly, getting up and coming over to shake Luke’s hand. His grip is strong and intimidating, but his smile is genuine. “Good to meet you, man. Welcome.”  
  
“Thanks. You too.” Luke’s voice comes out squeaky and he hates himself. It’s only in trying not to stare too long into Calum’s intense brown eyes that Luke finally notices what they were talking about earlier, what Brendan Gallagher allegedly did – the carpet in front of the TV and the opposite wall are soaked and covered in what looks like the broken shards of brightly colored water balloons.  
  
“C’mon in.” Calum gestures into the room, casual and friendly. Ashton is already examining the multicolored bits of latex littered across the floor.  
  
Luke takes a few steps forward, but feels awkward about taking a seat until Ashton does.  
  
“Can I get you something to drink?” Calum asks, heading for the kitchen behind them. “We’re out of booze. I’ve got, like, Coke and stuff though. Orange Crush. Root Beer. That’s Michael, by the way.”  
  
“A Coke is fine,” Luke says, looking at Michael while he does. “Um. Hey.”  
  
“‘Sup,” Michael intones, the word flat and his expression blank to match it.  
  
“So what’s the revenge plan?” Ashton asks, in Calum’s direction. “Run his panties up the flag pole?”  
  
“I was thinking of taking a hammer to every pair of skates he owns,” Calum says, coming back into the room and handing Luke a can of Coke. He tosses another one to Ashton, who catches it coolly. Luke’s glad he was handed his. It would have been humiliating if he’d dropped it. Calum flops back down onto the couch, so Luke sits in the leather chair next to it. “What d’you think, too much?”  
  
Ashton laughs and sits in the other chair, across the coffee table from Luke. “Maybe a bit. We’ll brainstorm. Come up with something good that won’t get you in trouble. Did he actually just burst in here and pelt you with balloons and then take off?”  
  
“Yes.” Calum shakes his head, not looking amused. “I thought it was you at first, you and Mikey are the only ones who ever barge in here unannounced. And then.”  
  
“At least he missed the TV,” Michael points out, stretching his arms behind his head. Luke catches sight of words written on the inside of his pale arm in black ink – he thinks it says  _To The Moon_.  
  
“Why is your hair red?” Luke asks. The words just burst out of him, he doesn’t even remember his brain telling his mouth to form them. He’s too impulsive, sometimes.  
  
Michael blinks and swivels his head to face Luke slowly, glaring daggers at him. “Because I fucking want it to be. What kind of a question is that?”  
  
“I was just asking,” Luke says, bristling and feeling defensive. He knows it was a dumb question, but Michael’s looking at him like Luke just called his sister a whore or something and the reaction is a bit much.  
  
“Well don’t.”  
  
“Be nice,” Ashton admonishes, reaching over and smacking Michael lightly on the arm.  
  
Michael glares at him too, and that makes Luke feel just a tiny bit better because maybe this guy is just an asshole to everyone. He certainly comes off that way in interviews Luke’s seen.  
  
“Mikey,” Calum says quietly.  
  
“What?” Michael snaps. “He’s fresh meat so we gotta treat him like a precious little flower? Nobody handled me with kid gloves.”  
  
“ _Mikey_ ,” Calum says again, pointed this time, and they share a meaningful look that ends in Michael rolling his eyes and slouching further down into the couch, crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
“Fine. Be nice to the princess. Message received.”  
  
Luke frowns and tries not to let the insult bother him – or, at least, tries not to let it show that it bothers him. Michael doesn’t say much else for the rest of the evening. He just broods in the corner of the couch, every now and then tossing a dark look Luke’s way that Luke, by his own estimation, does nothing to deserve. It’s off-putting, as hard as Luke fights to ignore it. He likes Calum. And Ashton is still great, so mostly Luke focuses on them. He’s still grateful when Ashton announces they should all go to sleep so they’re not zombies tomorrow at the first day of training camp. Calum gives him a one-armed hug as they leave, and there’s a certain apologetic air to his smile that Luke thinks might be about Michael, who doesn’t even say goodbye to either of them.  
  
“Calum’s awesome, right?” Ashton asks as he lets them back into his apartment. “I’ll look into getting you your own key tomorrow, by the way.”  
  
“Yeah, he is,” Luke answers honestly. “Michael is …”  
  
He doesn’t finish the sentence, but Ashton doesn’t seem to need him to. He locks up behind them, and shrugs one shoulder half-heartedly. “Michael is Michael. He grows on you.”  
  
“I’ll take your word for it.”  
  
“I don’t think it’s easy, being him,” Ashton says, slowly like he’s making a point but carefully like he doesn’t want to offend. “Being gay. Being the media’s favorite toy.”  
  
“Oh.” Luke feels stupid. “Yeah. No, I’m sure it isn’t.”  
  
Ashton nods. “I’m hittin’ the sack. Anything you need? We can go shopping on the weekend, get you all set up, but until then.”  
  
Luke shakes his head. “I’m good. Thanks, again. For today.”  
  
“Any time. Get some sleep.” Ashton pulls him into a brief hug – a real one, not the manly, no-homo kind like Calum did earlier – and disappears off into what Luke assumes is his own bedroom.  
  
Luke shuts off the lights and makes his way to his room, tugging sheets and a quilt out of one suitcase and quickly making up the bed, but he’s too worked up to sleep. Tomorrow is such an enormous day. Luke isn’t anywhere near ready for it. 

 


	3. trois

Crisp, thin air. The rough scrape of blades on ice. The jumbled, unintelligible echo of male voices, ringing off the rafters and bouncing through the empty seats. The familiar smell, sweaty equipment and rubber flooring and Zamboni fluid. Luke knows it all so well. He knows it better through all five of his senses than he does through his brain – it’s an olfactory and auditory memory more than a mental one. He’s been in arenas that seat fifty people and arenas that seat thousands. Indoor ones and outdoor ones. He’s been in small town ice complexes, where hockey and curling and figure skating all go on at once on side-by-side rinks. He’s been overseas, in Finland and Russia and Sweden for tournaments when he played junior. But irrespective of variables, no matter what country he’s in or the size of the place or if it’s brand new and state-of-the-art or sixty years old and falling into disrepair, they always smell and sound exactly the same. Luke’s taken to closing his eyes sometimes, cutting off his primary sense, and just absorbing the noise and the scent and the feel of cool air on his cheeks. That way, regardless of where he is, an arena still feels like home.   
  
“Welcome to your new sandbox,” Ashton says, leaning in close to Luke’s ear.   
  
Luke grins. “Thanks.”  
  
“Ready for it?”  
  
“Yes.” Luke means it. This morning, he was nervous. But being here, a sense of calm settles over him. He’s comfortable on the ice. It’s where he belongs.   
  
“Good. Let’s go.”  
  
Luke tightens the laces on his skates one more time, making sure they’re perfect. He hangs his street clothes on hooks in the cubby with his last name on it – the one right next to Ashton’s. Luke has a feeling Ashton requested that. He’s not sure what he ever did to deserve getting slapped with a replacement big brother the second he touched down here, but he’s grateful for it. He should really call Ben and Jack and tell them about Ashton; they’d deny it but they’d both feel better knowing someone out here is looking out for Luke. They’ve known each other for less than 24 hours but Luke already feels better about everything he was worrying over yesterday. Whatever happens, he knows Ashton will have his back. He sees, now, why he earned that C on his jersey. Ashton deserves to be the team captain, even if he isn’t the most experienced player or the highest scorer. He cares about his teammates, cares about being a good leader, and that’s more important.   
  
He grabs a stick – a Reebok 11K Sidekick III, the kind Crosby uses – from the bundle that was shipped here for him. Luke’s happy they arrived on time, it would have been embarrassing to have to borrow a twig from someone else. He follows Ashton and the last few stragglers down the path of rubber mats and out to the ice, where the rest of the team already is. Luke instantly spots Michael – his bright hair giving away his position like a road flare – at the other end of the rink, standing with Calum, another player Luke doesn’t recognize, and Carey Price. One of the best goalies in the world, just standing there less than fifty feet from Luke, chatting casually with his teammates like he  _isn’t_ an enormous deal. Luke swallows thickly. He wasn’t quite expecting to be as star-struck as he is with the more famous players.  
  
Offhandedly, he notices that the other three are laughing, and Michael isn’t. So the guy just plain doesn’t have a sense of humor, then.  
  
To distract himself, Luke takes a look around. It’s the biggest arena he’s ever been in, and he feels dwarfed by it when he steps out off the bench. The vastness of the bowl of empty seats is like being at the bottom of a canyon. There’s energy in here, too. There’s buzzing in the air, it feels like magic. Luke can’t even imagine what it will be like to be here when all the seats are filled with screaming fans.   
  
Luke hasn’t officially met anyone on the team other than the three he met yesterday, but stars fly past him as they skate in circles, warming up their legs – Brandon Prust and Tomas Plekanec and,  _holy shit_ , Max Pacioretty – and it’s like being at the Oscars or something. It’s so damn weird to see all these faces, players Luke’s been looking up to for so long, and to know he’s their equal now. He isn’t some dumb, dream-filled kid idolizing them anymore. He’ll be running drills alongside them any minute, and in just a few short weeks they’ll take the ice together for the season opener. It’s surreal.  
  
He isn’t sure exactly what he’s supposed to be doing – unfortunately, Ashton isn’t by his side anymore. He’s skating around, nimble and agile, greeting his teammates, a smile carving dimples into his cheeks as he sees his friends again. Everybody seems excited to see him. The older guys treat him like their long-lost little brother; the prospects – kids even younger than Luke, who probably won’t make the team this year – look at him much the same way Luke’s sure he does; like Ashton is their Obi-Wan. Luke watches, a fresh wave of admiration hitting him. He’d never be a good captain. He’s too shy. Too worried about what people will think of him.  
  
Luke takes a few laps for something to do, skating as fast as he can up the stretch, blood pumping through his legs, lungs drawing in the familiar, damp, cold air, and then coasting around the ends, the razor-sharp blades of his skates carving into the ice to keep him upright. He slows down after three like that, gliding at a gentler pace and panting. Michael floats past him at one point, and doesn’t bother making eye contact. Luke tries not to care.  
  
Eventually, the older, grey-haired man Luke recognizes as Coach Michel Therrien steps off the bench and skates out to the center of the ice, blowing the whistle hanging on a lanyard around his neck and waving everybody towards him. As Luke skates in his direction, someone slides up next to him and tosses an arm around his shoulders. Luke turns and is met with the sight of Calum’s chocolate-colored eyes.  
  
“Time to see if you’re as good as everyone says,” Calum says, grinning – cocky, but only half-serious about it.  
  
“Who says?” Luke asks.  
  
“You think we don’t track our draft picks? We all know what you can do. Now you just gotta do it here.”  
  
“Easier said than done,” Luke grumbles, wishing it were Ashton instead.  
  
“You know you can kick ass, Hemmings,” Calum says, ruffling Luke’s hair with his gloved hand. “Knock ‘em dead.”  
  
“Okay!” Coach Therrien claps his hands together, French Canadian accent tilting his words as he addresses them. “Welcome back! Hope everybody had a nice break, and came back ready to work!”  
  
A few guys whistle and clap; Ashton shouts, “Yee-haw!” in an exaggerated Southern drawl.  
  
Coach Therrien laughs. “And to our new faces, welcome! We’re just going to get into a few drills today. Nothing too serious. We’ll get to know each other, have a good time. To our prospects, you’re here to learn, to make an impression so we know who you are when the time comes for you to join us. And to our draft picks, Mr. Luke Hemmings – ”  
  
He’s cut off as Ashton and Calum cheer obnoxiously loudly, and everyone laughs and then joins in and Luke blushes so deeply if he pressed his cheek to the ice he’d probably turn the whole rink into a swimming pool.  
  
“Mr. Brett Lernout, and Mr. Nikita Scherbak,” the Coach continues, “we have high hopes for you! Get out there and show us what you can do.”  
  
Everyone claps again. Luke catches Michael’s eye accidentally from across the circle. Michael stares at him for just a moment, and then looks away with an eye roll. Luke clenches his jaw. He has no idea what this guy’s problem is, but it’s getting old fast.  
  
They run drills for most of the morning. Some of them are old standards that Luke’s been doing since he was seven, but it’s good to get moving again to get reacquainted with the feel of the puck on his stick, his skates on the ice, after the summer. Luke trained like crazy in July and August, running miles every morning and lifting with Jack and doing dry-land drills with his dad in the field behind their house. He’s still too skinny because he grew a foot taller out of nowhere last year and it stretched him out, but he made a ton of progress, and he enjoys the benefits of it as he sails past guys twice as heavy as him during Alactic sprints.  
  
After lunch they start up a quick shinny, Price in goal at one end and Dustin Tokarski at the other. Luke treats it like a real game because he wants to make his mark, flying up and down the ice and putting two pucks past Tokarski.  
  
“Nice moves, kid!” Brendan Gallagher calls to him after Luke’s second goal.  
  
“Thanks,” Luke says, with a smile. He reaches up and hi-fives Brendan’s lifted hand. “You should be on the look-out for revenge from Calum, just so you know. For the balloons.”  
  
Brendan tosses his head back as he laughs. “That’s right, I forgot you’re roomin’ with Irwin. And no worries. I’d be disappointed if he didn’t retaliate.”  
  
“I won’t feel so bad about warning you, then.”  
  
Brendan claps him on the back and skates off in the direction of the play. Luke turns to follow him, and is blind-sided by something solid and hard, losing his balance instantly and tumbling to the ice. Pain blooms bright in his shoulder, and it takes a second to blink his vision back into focus. He looks up just in time to see Michael smirking as he skates off, cool and collected.  
  
“Head’s up, Princess,” he calls over his shoulder.  
  
Luke scowls and shakes his arm, trying to get the feeling back in it.  
  
“What the fuck, Clifford?” a loud voice booms from behind Luke. “You okay?”  
  
Luke blinks a few more times, his head still spinning a little from the unexpected blow. “Yeah.”  
  
An ungloved, dark skinned hand reaches down, and Luke takes it. He’s helped to his feet by what turns out to be P.K. Subban, and then Luke’s head spins for a different reason. He feels like he just got whacked over the skull by a cartoon mallet, like from Looney Tunes. There are just way too many superstars on this team. Luke can’t seem to catch a proper breath since he got here.  
  
“Don’t know what his problem is, it’s just pick up,” P.K. mutters, staring after Michael before turning kind, almost black eyes to Luke.  
  
Luke shrugs. “Probably an accident.”  
  
“Probably,” P.K. agrees, but it’s clear he doesn’t believe it any more that Luke does.  
  
Luke gets his revenger a few minutes later, anyway, when Michael gives the puck up to him on a split-second’s mistake, and Luke darts around him and takes off with it, putting a third shot above Tokarski’s glove and into the mesh of the net. He returns to the goofy cheering of his temporary teammates, brushing past Michael as he does, purposely knocking into Michael’s shoulder with his own and not sparing him a second glance.  
  
For the last drill of the day, trainers bring out nets rigged with round foam targets, one in each of the four corners. They take turns parking themselves halfway between the blue line and the goal line, taking slap passes from teammates on either side of the net and sending one-timers on goal until they knock down all four targets. A trainer with a stop watch turns it into a just-for-fun competition, with everyone cheering at each new shortest time.  
  
A voice that sounds like Ashton’s cat-calls when Luke is up; it makes him smile to himself. He tunes it out, though, when he sets himself up in position and focuses on his targets. He takes a deep breath, blocking everything out except for his task, and then nods in the direction of the trainer. The man shouts, “Go!”, and Brandon Prust slides a puck quickly across the ice in Luke’s direction. Time slows down for just a second, like it always does when Luke concentrates this hard, and then speeds up suddenly. He catches the puck on the tip of his stick and whips it toward the net, a perfectly placed wrist shot taking out the bottom left target right through the middle. Another three pucks come to him in quick succession, and Luke takes them all out like a sniper – top right, bottom right, top left, bang, bang, bang.  
  
“Fifteen seconds!” the trainer calls out, and the bench erupts in cheers.  
  
Luke presses his lips together to hold back his smile. Fastest time so far by five full seconds. He’s definitely going to have to call Ben and Jack tonight.  
  
“Did you say fifteen?” Coach Therrien asks from the other side of the ice. When the trainer nods, he turns toward the bench. “What’s your record, Clifford?”  
  
Michael’s jaw clenches. Luke can see it even from thirty feet away. “Seventeen.”  
  
Luke has to look away. He doesn’t want to make things worse with Michael, and grinning smugly at him wouldn’t help anything, as much as Luke wants to.  
  
“Think you’ve got another in you, Hemmings?” the Coach asks.  
  
“Yes, sir,” Luke answers.  
  
“How about a race, then?”  
  
“You’re on.” Michael hops off the bench immediately, ready to prove Luke isn’t better than him. Luke is going to wipe the fucking floor with him.  
  
The trainer with the stopwatch resets the targets on Luke’s net, and another one brings a second net out and sets it up at the other end. Michael moves slowly toward Luke at center ice; skates in a leisurely, taunting circle around him.  
  
“Feelin’ lucky?” he asks quietly. His red hair sticks out of his helmet in odd places.  
  
“Keep the luck for yourself, I don’t need it.” Luke has never been that good at trash talking, but he can fake it when the situation calls.  
  
Michael lets out a low whistle. “Ooh. Look who finally strapped on a pair. You’re goin’ down, rookie.”  
  
“Yeah, I bet you  _wish_  I was,” Luke returns rudely, the crude joke rolling off his tongue like it’s nothing because that’s how this is done. He’s said way worse to old rival teammates, and they laughed it off later. Then Luke remembers that Michael is different. He hears the words he just said, full seconds after he spoke them, like a bystander to his own existence. He really, really, _really_  shouldn’t have said that.  
  
Michael sort of falters, caught off guard, and looks at Luke, his mouth hanging just slightly open. Michael blinks at him,  _hurt_  flashing through his green eyes, and Luke’s whole body goes hot and cold at the same time, his stomach twisting itself into knots.  _Fuck._  
  
“I …” he stammers. “Shit, I, that wasn’t – ”  
  
“Go fuck yourself,” Michael growls at him, turning away and skating toward his end of the ice.  
  
Luke wants to call after him, to explain that he wasn’t thinking, that he didn’t mean it the way Michael took it. But he can’t, because everyone is watching. Luke closes his eyes for a moment, silently cursing himself, and then gets himself back into position to play the game. The trainer calls, “Go!”, again, and Luke instantly misses the first shot. And the second. He can’t concentrate, can’t think clearly because all he can focus on is that Michael thinks Luke was making fun of him for being gay, and that isn’t what Luke meant at  _all_  but Michael wouldn’t let him explain, might not ever let him explain. Luke fires three pucks at the top right target and misses them all, finally taking the sucker out with a fourth puck just as the trainer at the other end of the ice yells, “Thirteen seconds!”, signaling that Michael won, beat his own record  _and_  Luke’s.  
  
Luke doesn’t even care. He looks at Michael across the ice, and Michael smirks at him, but Luke sees underneath it. He sees anger there, too. And he feels lower than dirt.  
  
*           *           *  
  
“Dude, stop pouting,” Ashton says, later when they’re in his car, on their way back to the apartment. “It was a game. It doesn’t matter. Fifteen seconds is fucking amazing. And you were sick the rest of the day too, I was watching you. You did awesome. They were so impressed with you.”  
  
“That’s not … thanks.”  
  
“It’s not what?”  
  
Luke sighs. “I said something shitty to Michael.”  
  
“What did you say?” Ashton asks slowly.  
  
Luke squirms in his seat. “Right before we raced. He told me I was going down. I said I bet he wished I was.”  
  
“Oh.” Ashton pauses for just a moment, like he doesn’t get it instantly either, and then he groans. “ _Oh_.”  
  
“I know. I didn’t mean it that way. But he took it that way. You should have seen his face.”  
  
“Just tell him that,” Ashton suggests. “He’ll be at Gallagher’s tonight.”  
  
“He’s not gonna want to talk to me.”  
  
“Try anyway,” Ashton insists, and Luke knows he’s right.  
  
*           *           *  
  
The music is loud, thumping, more bass and drums than melody. And everyone is drunk. Luke isn’t quite there, but he’s a few drinks in and just buzzed enough to be even more nervous than before at the idea of talking to Michael. He finds him in the kitchen, thankfully alone, pouring himself another drink.  
  
“Hey,” Luke starts, overwhelmed with that wishing-the-floor-would-swallow-him-whole feeling, and he’s only said one word.  
  
“How can I help you,” Michael asks, dryly. It isn’t a real question. Between the words it sounds like  _go the fuck away_.  
  
“I’m sorry.” Luke just puts it out there. He sees no point in small-talking right now.  
  
“Oh yeah? For what?” Michael’s voice feigns curiosity, and he doesn’t look up.  
  
“What I said, earlier. It was a stupid joke, I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”  
  
Michael hums, and sarcastically mutters, “And here I thought you’d figured me out. That I’m hard for every moron with a dick that crosses my path. ‘Cause that’s what being gay is to people like you, right? Being a sex-crazed pervert maniac, running around groping all the straight boys? That’s what you’re all so afraid of?”  
  
Luke closes his eyes and sighs. “That’s not … I just wasn’t thinking, okay? I’m not like that. I don’t care if you’re gay. Honestly.”  
  
“Oh, thank God. All this time I’ve been just  _dying_  for your approval.”  
  
Luke frowns, quickly losing grip on his temper. “What the hell is your deal, man? I said I was sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I did, and I feel like shit about it, what more do you want?”  
  
“I want you to leave me alone.”  
  
“Fine!” Luke snaps. He turns on his heel and stomps out of the room. He finds Ashton, and more vodka, and tries to have a good time in spite of Michael.  
  
It isn’t until he’s on his way to the bathroom later that he walks past the open kitchen door, and notices Michael is still in there. He’s sitting on the countertop, feet hanging down over the cabinets below, hunched over and scrolling through his phone. Luke watches him for a second, watches Michael’s blank, expressionless, unchanging face as whatever he’s looking at on his iPhone doesn’t elicit a physical reaction. Then Luke looks back into the other room, where nearly the entire team is drinking and laughing and having a great time with each other, and Luke is the only one who’s noticed Michael’s absence from the fun. The thought, mixed with the buzz of alcohol in his veins, suddenly makes him unbearably sad.  
  
He finds Calum, because it’s the only thing he can think of; sending his dark-haired teammate in the direction of the kitchen. Then he finds Ashton, drunk and loud and holding court on the couch, and sits next to him. He pretends to be drunker than he is to explain the way he sits a little too close and leans against the older boy. Luke’s always liked to touch a little too much. Maybe it comes from being the baby of his family. After a few minutes, Michael and Calum emerge from the kitchen and head for the door. Calum catches Luke’s eye on the way out, and mouths  _thank you_. Luke can’t even feel good about it, because it might be his fault in the first place.

The two of them slip out, and no one but Luke notices that either. 


	4. quatre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I redid the chapter names because it was bothering me that they were out of sequence because I called the first one the prologue)
> 
> Also look at what [dontmakemehurtu ](http://dontmakemehurtu.tumblr.com/post/112400678980/arcadia-vibes-with-my-favorite-quote-this-time) made for me!! No one's ever made me fan art before, this is so cute.  
> [](http://s780.photobucket.com/user/storm_warning86/media/Arcadia%20fan%20art.jpg.html)

“So.” Ashton stretches his arms over the backs of the seats on either side of him and kicks his legs up on the one in front of him. “First pro training camp. What did you think?”  
  
Luke puts his up too, his long legs stretching much farther than Ashton’s. They’re sitting together in the empty arena, about halfway up in the lower bowl. It’s so quiet in here, now that everyone else has gone home. It’s calming. Luke kind of never wants to leave. These few weeks have been better than Luke could have ever imagined. He worked himself down to the bone; he’s exhausted and his muscles are angry at him but Luke loved it.  
  
“Honestly? It was amazing,” Luke says. He feels safe, admitting things to Ashton. Like he doesn’t have to watch what he says for fear Ashton won’t like him. “This is like …”  
  
“Dreams coming true?”  
  
“Is that lame?”  
  
“No. Don’t you think every new kid feels that way? I did.”  
  
“My mom is sending you a care package,” Luke tells him. “With like homemade cookies and stuff.”  
  
Ashton looks at him, a smile and a frown twisted up in his sharp features. “Why?”  
  
“Because I’ve been telling her about how you more or less adopted me.”  
  
Ashton shrugs. He has a way of doing awesome things and acting like he didn’t do anything at all. Luke likes that about him. He reminds Luke of Jack. “When I first got here, I was even worse than you. I’m from a really small town. I was freaked out by how big this city is, I was homesick all the time, I was a mess. Max kinda took me under his wing. He helped me out a lot. Just having someone, you know? Someone who’ll have your back when you’re more or less alone in a new place. The whole team did, really. They will for you, too, now that camp’s over. You’ll see. These guys will be your family.”  
  
Luke likes the sound of that.   
  
“But, I mean,” Ashton adds, “if your mom wants to send me cookies, I’m not gonna complain.”  
  
“She makes really good cookies.”  
  
“I’ll share them with you.”  
  
Luke laughs. “Thanks.”  
  
*           *           *  
  
The first game of the season is maybe the best night of Luke’s entire life. The noise, the crowd, the electric buzz in the air. It isn’t even a game that matters, but to Luke it’s everything. Everything he’s been dreaming of his entire life. He knows his family is watching back home. He gets six texts from Ben, seven from Jack, and fifteen from his mom, all in the last hour before puck drop. He’s nervous and excited and so ready for this. Nothing in all his years so far prepares him for how fast paced the game is, how impossible it is to keep the puck for more than a few seconds, how hard the hits are when they come from grown men twice as heavy as him. Luke gets steam-rolled into the boards on his third shift and doesn’t even mind, it feels like a rite of passage – and, just as Ashton promised, Calum descends out of nowhere and gets in the guy’s face about it even though it was a clean check. It’s the first time Luke really feels like he’s on the team. He isn’t a wistful kid looking up to these guys anymore, he’s one of them.  
  
Luke hears the scrape of blades and the crunch of hits to the boards in his sleep, and loves every minute of it.  
  
For a month after the party, Michael keeps his distance as much as he can. It’s fine with Luke. He doesn’t like fighting anyway, so if Michael doesn’t want to be friends Luke would rather just not see him any more than he has to. He gets to know Ashton better every day, and the others too. Carey Price is shy and a little neurotic but really nice. P.K. Subban is the funniest person Luke’s ever met. He constantly has everyone laughing so much their sides hurt. Calum and Brendan’s prank war continues, escalating to Calum filling Brendan’s car with sawdust – he refuses to divulge how. Max has an unending list of amazing restaurants in Montreal and after practice days when they don’t have to fly anywhere, groups of them go out and eat and drink way too much and laugh too loud and annoy everyone else in the place. Michael never goes. Sometimes Luke wonders if he was even invited.  
  
For the most part, Luke is  _happy_. There’s such an intense sense of accomplishment, of satisfaction, from knowing he’s worked his entire life toward a goal and now he’s achieving it.  
  
Michael nags at him, though. Not Michael himself, but his presence. His existence. They don’t speak unless they have to, which is rare, but sometimes they catch each other’s eye by accident and silent animosity passes between them. Like they really, really hate each other or something, and it’s so stupid because it’s based on nothing. At this point, Luke would honestly be relieved if someone told him he dropped acid last year and drove up to Canada and murdered Michael’s cat and just doesn’t remember it, because at least then Michael’s intense dislike for him would make sense.  
  
“ _Don’t_  call me Mike,” Michael snaps at him one day, after practice, when Luke calls after him that he forgot his car keys in the locker room.  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Because I fuckin’ said so, what other reason do you need? My name is Michael. Okay?”  
  
“Calum calls you Mikey,” Luke points out. It’s stupid of him. He should know by now to just let things go where Michael is concerned.  
  
“Yeah, that’s Cal. He’s known me since we were kids, he gets to call me whatever he wants. You’ve known me for five minutes. You don’t.” He snatches the keys from Luke’s hand and stalks moodily away from him, and Luke’s left feeling like he just gravely insulted Michael’s entire ancestral lineage rather than called him a friendly, entirely inoffensive nickname.  
  
Ashton flops down on the couch next to him, later when they’re back at the apartment, and hands him a beer. Luke doesn’t really like beer – he’s only been old enough to drink it for a few months, anyway, so he doesn’t have a ton of experience with it. But he takes it regardless because he wants Ashton to like him.  
  
“Bad day, sonny?” Ashton asks, in an exaggerated old-man voice. “Tell Uncle Ashton all your troubles.”  
  
Luke laughs a little in spite of his sour mood. “I’m fine,” he lies. Ashton sees through it.  
  
“Being roomies means we gotta share secrets.”  
  
“I didn’t realize this was a sorority.”  
  
“Shut up.” Ashton shoves him playfully. “C’mon, dude. You’re all prickly about something. Talk to me.”  
  
Luke is hesitant. He had friends on his old teams. Really good friends, guys he’d take a punch for every day of the week. But the culture of this thing, the way pro-sports are, talking to each other about feelings just sort of isn’t something that’s done. Luke was really sensitive as a child, being the youngest and all, and once hockey became his world he learned quickly to bottle that up and hide it away. It was just the way things were done. Ashton has kind eyes, though, and he makes Luke want to remember that part of himself he left behind so long ago.  
  
“I know, all the no-homo stuff, right?” Ashton says, reading Luke’s mind in that freaky way of his. “It’s not … I hate that shit. It’s so fucking stupid. Just ‘cause we’re athletes doesn’t mean we don’t get, whatever. Sad. Angry. Lonely. All that noise. We’re still  _people_. So please talk to me. I’m not gonna lose it and decide you’re in love with me just because we have one conversation that doesn’t resolve around power plays.”  
  
“Okay.” Luke nods, and really wants to believe him. “I … it’s really nothing. I just … what’s up with Michael and Calum? Why don’t they like me?”  
  
“Calum likes you,” Ashton says, after a long enough pause to tell Luke everything he needs to know. It’s why he put Calum’s name in that sentence.  
  
He sighs in annoyance and leans back against the couch cushions. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. So it’s just fucking Clifford that hates me.”  
  
“I don’t think he  _hates_  you.”  
  
“Well he definitely doesn’t  _like_  me.”  
  
“Why do you care? It doesn’t seem like you like him either.”  
  
“I don’t know,” Luke huffs. “Because I can’t figure out what I did.”  
  
“You probably didn’t do anything. That’s just how he is.”  
  
“So, an asshole,” Luke sums up.  
  
“Not exactly.”  
  
“Exactly  _what_?”  
  
“He doesn’t warm up to people right away. He has reasons. It’s not my place to tell you what they are. Give him some time, just be nice to him. Don’t try so hard. He’ll come around.”  
  
“Look, it’s not like I wanna marry the guy. But we’re teammates. What if we end up on the same line? If we can’t even have a conversation we’re gonna play like shit together. I didn’t come here to be shitty.”  
  
“Neither did Michael.”  
  
Luke raises an eyebrow. “Meaning what?”  
  
“Meaning, as competitive as you are, Michael’s worse. You’re good, Luke. Maybe Michael’s used to being the best.”  
  
Luke blinks. “You think he’s  _jealous_ of me?”  
  
Ashton throws an arm around him. “I think the two of you got off on the wrong foot. Maybe try talking to him. Just saying that. Clearing the air, starting over. I bet you could be friends.”  
  
“I guess,” Luke mumbles, already knowing he isn’t even going to bother trying. It wouldn’t do any good.  
  
*           *           *  
  
“Hey little bro!”  
  
Luke smiles at the sound of his brother’s voice. He flops down on his bed, holding his iPhone to his ear. “How’s it going?”  
  
“Who the hell cares about me?” Ben asks with a laugh. “How are you? How’s being a freakin’ pro hockey player?”  
  
“It’s awesome,” Luke tells him. And it is, for the most part. He’s loving 99 percent of his life right now. It’s just that pesky one percent that won’t stop hounding him.   
  
“But?”   
  
Luke is both relieved and annoyed that Ben can hear the  _but_  in his voice. “There’s this one guy that doesn’t like me very much. It’s nothing.” It really isn’t what Luke called to talk about. He misses his family, he wasn’t intending on calling up his big brother to tattle on the kid who wouldn’t share his crayons.   
  
“Who is it?”  
  
“Ben. It’s fine. Okay? We don’t all have to be each other’s best friends.” He’s a little worried Ben wasn’t kidding about what he said the night Luke left – that he might actually drive up here and kick Michael’s ass. He probably could, too. Ben is pretty solid, and Michael is skinny like Luke.   
  
“I’m not gonna beat him up,” Ben says, reading Luke’s mind. “I just wanna know.”  
  
Luke sighs. “You’ve heard of Michael Clifford?”  
  
“The gay one?”  
  
Luke cringes a little. “Yeah.”  
  
“He seems like a nut-job.”  
  
“He is, kinda. I guess. I don’t know.”  
  
“Like he’s always on TV getting’ into it with someone. That’d be one instance where I’d just say, fuck it, who cares if he doesn’t like you. He doesn’t seem to like anyone.”  
  
“I know. And that’s what I thought too, but it just … I don’t know.” Luke covers his eyes with his hand. “It bugs me, man. ‘Cause I didn’t do anything. I met him the day I got here, Ashton introduced us, and I was just like ‘Hi’ and he gave me this look like he wanted a piano to fall on my head. How do you just decide you hate someone ten seconds after you meet them?”  
  
“Normal people don’t. This guy is nuts, like I said.”  
  
“He’s really good.” Luke wishes that part wasn’t true. He has such reverence for the game that it’s difficult to hate someone who’s as talented as Michael is.  
  
“The rookie thing last year right?” Ben laughs a little. “I remember his speech. He went up there with lime green hair like it wasn’t weird at all. Just kinda stared at the audience and muttered thanks and then walked off.”  
  
Luke remembers watching that. He remembers thinking Michael didn’t look very happy, and wondering why. He remembers thinking the eyebrow piercing was strange. Not so much the tattoos, there are players with tattoos. Calum has tattoos, even more than Michael does. A feather and the year he was born on his chest; a horseshoe and a tribal chief and a bird and a girl’s name, on his arm. Luke realizes he’s never asked who she is. So tattoos aren’t strange. Piercings are unusual though, in places other than ears.   
  
“His hair is red now.”  
  
“I know,” Ben replies. “I watch TV.”  
  
“I wouldn’t switch places with him. All that attention.” Luke often finds himself wanting to make excuses for Michael around other people, maybe because he hopes there  _are_  excuses.   
  
“They did a thing on you last week, did Mom tell you? On Sports Center. It was like an analysis of this year’s hottest new talent.”   
  
Luke smiles. “I was on it?”   
  
“Yep. Had footage of you from games and stuff, and they were talking about how good you’re doing. You look fantastic out there kiddo. Makes me miss when I used to be better than you.”  
  
Luke laughs. “I don’t.”  
  
“Yeah I’m sure you don’t.” Ben sounds proud, and it makes Luke feel warm inside. It’s dumb, but he’s always been thirsty for his brothers’ approval.   
  
“How’s stuff at home?”  
  
“Same. Mom keeps setting a place for you at the table and then getting all teary when she realizes.”  
  
“Aw.” Luke chuckles, but that makes him sad too. He misses them.   
  
“I still can’t get over you friggin’ rooming with Ashton Irwin. What’s he like?”  
  
“He’s great. Really nice. Good captain.”  
  
“Dude, this isn’t a press conference. Give me something real!”  
  
Luke laughs again. “Uh. His hair is really messy in the mornings? I don’t know, man. He’s just … great. He’s lookin’ out for me.”  
  
“Good. Somebody needs to keep you from wandering into traffic.”  
  
Luke would protest, but Ben isn’t wrong. Luke gets easily distracted, off the ice. He kind of  _does_  need someone pointing him in the right direction.  
  
“Are you best friends with Carey Price yet?”  
  
“Not exactly. He’s nice too, though. Bit quiet.”  
  
“People say he’s weird.”  
  
“He’s a goalie. They’re all a little off. You’d have to be, don’t you think? I wouldn't want that job. Too much pressure.”  
  
Ben hums in agreement. “Yeah. Well. I gotta jet, kid. Call again soon, okay? When Mom’s home. She misses you.”  
  
“Tell her I miss her too.”  
  
“I will. Keep kickin’ ass out there.”  
  
Luke nods. “I’ll try. See you.”  
  
There’s always a bad taste in his mouth when he hangs up after talking to his family, because he always wishes he never had to put the phone down.  
  
He tries to take Ben’s advice and not let Michael bother him. There are lots of days when it works. He makes other friends. He and Ashton go golfing one Sunday in October, just as the leaves are starting to change, with Max and Carey. Luke’s never golfed before so he sucks at it, but it’s still a perfect day. Until they get home and Luke’s shoulder hurts from hacking at balls stuck in sand traps all day long. They don’t have any ice packs so Luke crosses the hall to see if Calum does, and is surprised when Michael opens the door.  
  
“Oh,” he says. “Hi.”  
  
Michael just raises an eyebrow. He does that a lot. It’s a talent, almost, the way he can sarcastically drawl  _what do you want?_ with the barely-there movement of one muscle.  
  
“I was expecting Calum,” Luke stammers.  
  
“Obviously,” Michael says rudely. “Do you need something?”  
  
“Is he here?” Luke asks, not taking the bait. He’s not going to let Michael turn this into a fight.  
  
“Depends on what you want.” Michael crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe, somehow looking down his nose at Luke even though Luke is taller. Michael makes him feel small, like the kid who bullied Luke in second grade used to. Except Luke isn’t seven years old anymore, and he doesn’t have to take this shit. His resolve breaks all at once. It barely lasted ten seconds.  
  
“Are you like his bouncer now? Get the fuck out of my way.” He shoves roughly past Michael without waiting for a response.  
  
“Hey Luke,” Calum calls from across the room. “What’s up?”  
  
“Can I borrow an ice pack?”  
  
“Sure.” Calum goes to the kitchen, and comes back holding a plastic package filled with frozen blue gel. “You’re not hurt, are you? We need you tomorrow.”  
  
“Minor golfing injury,” Luke tells him, taking the ice pack and thanking him.  
  
“Aw, Cal. They didn’t invite you to his birthday party at the putt-putt course,” Michael says from behind them. Luke can  _hear_  the smirk on his face.  
  
“Because we were worried he’d bring you,” Luke returns, being just as rude as Michael is, because fuck it, what does he have to lose.  
  
“It  _is_  a national pastime of the homos to shove anything remotely dick-shaped up unsuspecting dudes’ asses,” Michael agrees sardonically. “Good call, keep me away from the clubs.”  
  
Calum sighs. “Michael.”  
  
“Would you give it a fucking rest with that?” Luke snaps, turning around and facing Michael head-on. “I don’t have a problem with you being gay. Hump whoever you want, it doesn’t matter. Hating you because you’re gay would require me giving a single fuck about you, and trust me, I don’t.”  
  
Michael glares at him, and Luke doesn’t bother giving him a chance to respond. He doesn’t care what Michael has to say anyway. He says, “Thanks, Cal, I’ll return it,” over his shoulder and leaves, purposely knocking his shoulder into Michael’s as he does like he did the first day of camp. He’s taller, and his shoulders are broader, and Michael stumbles a little. Luke smiles to himself in satisfaction. He can hear Calum’s angry voice after he closes the door behind himself, and that makes him happy too. He hopes Calum gives Michael hell. He deserves it. Luke goes back to his and Ashton’s apartment feeling like he finally won one.


	5. cinq

“You were unreal tonight,” Luke tells Carey.  
  
They just embarrassed the Stars, finishing 7-1. Max pulled a hat trick. Carey stopped almost fifty shots. Luke has never seen anything like it, he was like a brick wall. All while keeping his trademark straight face, cool as ever like nothing interesting was going on. Luke is so impressed by him. And still starstruck, a little. He can’t quite get over that.  
  
“Thanks,” Carey answers, showing straight, white teeth in a smile that crinkles the edges of his brown eyes.  
  
“Seriously, man. That was like sixty minutes of highlight reels.”  
  
Carey shrugs modestly. “I’m just happy we won.”  
  
“We didn’t win, we fuckin’ ruined them!” Calum cries dramatically. He grabs Carey by the shoulders and shakes him. “You were so good!!”  
  
Carey laughs and blushes. “Stop.”  
  
“I absolutely will not.” Calum jumps up on the bench, holding Carey’s shoulders from behind now and not letting him fade into the background like he obviously wants to; shyness creeping the blush down his neck. “Attention Habs!” Calum calls. “Can I get a round of applause for our fearless,  _ruggedly_  handsome net-minder, who showed us all tonight what the fuck happens when you mess with Texas!”  
  
The room cheers, and Carey looks halfway between pleased and like he wishes the floor would open up and swallow him. A trainer pokes his head in and announces that the press want to talk to Carey, and Luke’s never seen anyone looks so grateful to be pulled off for an interview. Luke hates talking to reporters. He isn’t comfortable with it yet, he’s still so painfully aware that he’s on live TV and every bumbled word is being broadcast nation-wide to tens of thousands of viewers in their living rooms, wondering why the new left-winger is currently leading the team in goals scored and yet can’t manage to string a sentence together.  
  
Luke is slower than usual, undressing and getting his things together, because he keeps getting distracted with replaying the game in his head. He can’t remember the last time he had as much fun as he did tonight, and that’s not for a lack of fun games so far. They’re all great, but tonight was something special. Luke is so happy he got to be a part of it.  
  
An elbow digs into his side, and Ashton says, “Hey, slow-poke. You take any longer and you might as well sleep here.”  
  
Luke looks up into Ashton’s hazel eyes, and then looks around to find the locker room empty except for the two of them. “Shit. Sorry, I’m out of it. Didn’t realize everyone was gone.”  
  
“Let’s go, man.”  
  
“I gotta shower. Sorry.” Luke cringes apologetically. “Go ahead, I’ll walk home.”  
  
“It’ll take you like a half hour. Just shower quick, I’ll wait.”  
  
Luke shakes his head. “Honestly. I want to.”  
  
Ashton raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t argue. “Okay, weirdo. See you at home.”  
  
Luke nods and smiles at him, and watches as Ashton’s back disappears through the open doorway. As he’s turning back to dig a towel out of his bag, his eyes settle on Michael, sitting on a bench on the other side of the room, swiping through his phone. Luke hadn’t noticed him before. Usually that’s not possible, with his hair being as bright as it is.  
  
“Oh,” he says out loud, without meaning to.  
  
Michael looks up with narrowed eyes. Annoyed is his default setting when it comes to Luke. When it comes to pretty much everyone, actually. “What?”  
  
“Nothing. Sorry.” Luke shakes his head. “Didn’t realize you were still here.”  
  
“Sorry to disappoint you,” Michael intones emotionlessly.  
  
“So I guess I’m not the only one he disappoints,” a low, male voice says from across the room.  
  
Luke and Michael both turn toward it at the same time. There’s an older man, maybe mid-forties, dressed in slouchy blue jeans and an old, stained button-up shirt. He’s leaning casually against the door frame, and he’s looking at Michael. Luke frowns, eyes darting back and forth between the two as they stare at each other.  
  
“What the hell are you doing here?” Michael says, breathy, like he wasn’t expecting whoever it is.   
  
“You haven’t so much as sent me a text in six months and that’s how you talk to me?” the man asks, with his eyebrows raised.   
  
“Michael?” Luke asks. He has no idea what’s going on, but Michael looks furious and it scares him.  
  
“How the fuck did you get past security?” Michael demands, standing up. His phone clatters to the floor, forgotten. “They're not supposed to let your scumbag ass in here!”  
  
“They didn’t let me in,” the man answers, with a hauntingly twisted smile.   
  
“Michael,” Luke says, louder. He moves toward him, reaching out and touching Michael’s arm, patting him urgently, panic beginning to churn in his gut. “Michael, who is that?”  
  
“Fuck off, Hemmings,” Michael mutters, shrugging his hand away.   
  
“Do you need me to call the police?”  
  
Michael glares at him briefly over his shoulder. “I need you to shut the fuck up and let me handle this.”  
  
“Who’s the twink?” The man nods his head in Luke’s direction. “New boy-toy?”  
  
“ _Fuck_  you,” Michael spits venomously. “He’s on the team, not that it actually fuckin’ matters to you.”  
  
“Does he know? About what you’d do to him if you ever got him alone?”  
  
“Oh my God,” Michael mumbles, rubbing his face with his hands and then spreading them out to the sides. “We were alone before you barged in here, and he’s still got his damn pants on, doesn’t he? I’m  _gay_ , I’m not a fucking rapist!”  
  
“As if there’s a difference.”  
  
Luke’s heart races even faster. Of their own accord his legs have moved him a little further behind Michael, putting the red-haired boy between himself and the man at the door. As much as Luke isn’t Michael’s number one fan, he really, really doesn’t like the intruder. And he got past the security desk to get in here, which wouldn’t have been easy to accomplish, and Luke’s wild imagination is jumping to all kinds of frightening conclusions on what that means. What if he’s here to hurt Michael? What if he’ll hurt Luke too for being in the wrong place at the wrong time?  
  
The man takes a few slow, lumbering steps into the room and glances around nonchalantly. “Not a bad set up you got in here, Mikey. Locker room full’a half-naked boys.”  
  
“You need to get out,” Michael says, dangerously serious. “I am not joking. You’re already violating the restraining order by being here, I could get you arrested for this.”  
  
“So do it,” the man taunts.  
  
“Don’t make me.”  
  
“I’m not making you. I’m daring you. Because I know you won’t.” He clicks his tongue and shakes his head in mock sympathy. “Spineless, just like you always were.”  
  
“I’m calling security,” Luke says, making the decision. He reaches into his bag and grabs his phone.  
  
“I said let me handle this!” Michael snaps.  
  
“Well maybe I don’t give a shit what you want!” Luke returns angrily, flipping through his contacts for the number regardless of what Michael says. “Maybe there’s a creepy guy in here threatening you, so I’m calling security and you can go fuck yourself.”  
  
Michael looks at him like he wants to murder Luke with his eyes, but Luke ignores it and calls anyway.   
  
“It’s Luke Hemmings, we need help in the home dressing room,” he says, as soon as someone answers. “Right now.”  
  
“I’ll be right there,” a male voice answers, and then the line goes dead.  
  
“Look at that, kiddo,” the man simpers. “You finally found someone with a set of stones to fight your battles for you.”  
  
“Do you see what’s happening right now?” Michael asks, gesturing wildly at Luke. “You’re breaking the law, and he’s calling security. They’re gonna throw you in jail unless you get out of here.”  
  
“Are you jealous? That’s your idea of a vacation, right? A whole prison cell full of dicks to suck?”  
  
Anger burns hot in Luke’s chest,  _livid_  at this asshole for the things he’s saying to Michael and he doesn’t even  _like_  Michael.   
  
“Alright, you know what?” Michael starts, taking a few steps toward the man.  
  
“What?” he challenges, stepping forward too so they’re face to face. “Think you’re a big man all of a sudden?”  
  
Michael doesn’t move for a moment, and then all at once he explodes, winding up and swinging and punching the man right in the jaw, just as two security guards in grey uniforms run into the room. Luke hears himself gasp. The man stumbles back, and one of the guards catches him, wrapping big arms around him as he struggles to get free.   
  
“Get off me!” he shouts.   
  
“Are you alright?” the other guard asks Michael.   
  
“He is not supposed to be able to get in here,” Michael says, pointing at the man and sounding furious. “You have his picture, you know that. How the  _fuck_  did he get past you?”  
  
“He didn’t. He must have snuck in through – ”  
  
“I don’t give a  _fuck_  where he snuck in through!” Michael yells. “I care that it never happens again! You are  _security_ , you have  _one_  job!”  
  
The guards exchange a look – the one holding the man looks like he wants to yell back but thinks the better of it. “You’re right,” he says, metaphorical tail between his legs. “It won’t happen again.”  
  
Michael doesn’t answer. He turns away and rubs at his bleeding knuckles, swearing under his breath.   
  
“I’ll see you real soon, Mikey,” the man calls tauntingly as they haul him away.   
  
“No you fuckin’ won’t,” Michael mutters, mostly to himself.   
  
Luke’s heart is still racing. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so scared in his life. “Are you okay?”  
  
Michael just glares at him and doesn’t respond.  
  
“Who was that?” Luke pushes.   
  
Michael goes over to his cubby and grabs his bag and his shoes, slinging the bag over his shoulder and walking towards the door. Just as he’s about to leave, he turns back over his shoulder and flatly says, “My father.”  
  
Luke stands there, his feet glued to the ground, all ability to physically react stripped from him. His heart thuds in his chest and his mind spins in a thousand directions and it leaves him confused and overheated and really, really wishing he’d gone home with Ashton so he didn’t have to see everything that just happened. Although, on second thought, Luke wonders how much worse it would have been if he hadn’t been here. Maybe Michael’s father – Michael’s  _father_ , holy shit – was holding back because there was someone else in the room. He can’t process it. Fathers are supposed to be loving, protective. Luke’s dad is the greatest guy he knows. He can’t imagine what has to go wrong in somebody’s life for them to treat their child the way that man just treated Michael. Michael didn’t seem surprised by it, either. It’s happened before. The thought makes Luke feel sick.  
  
Eventually he calms down, and his legs remember how to work again, and Luke gathers his things and heads for the showers. He doesn’t feel like going home just yet. Ashton will want to know what took him so long, and Luke doesn’t know how to tell him. If he’s even allowed to tell him. This sort of feels like something maybe Luke should keep to himself, because Michael wouldn’t want anyone to know.   
  
There’s a strange noise coming from the echoing halls of the showers, and Luke frowns, trying to place it. It isn’t until he gets the visual too that he figures out what it is. When he rounds the corner, he sees Michael, in the corner under the spray of a showerhead turned all the way up. He’s on the ground, still fully clothed, his knees pulled up into his chest and his hands over his face. Steam billows around him; the bits of exposed skin Luke can see are bright red from the scalding water. And he’s moving, rocking back and forth ever-so-slightly and the funny sound is coming from him – he’s  _crying_ , Luke realizes, and his heart stops for a few seconds.  
  
“Fuck,” he mumbles, dropping his bag to the ground and running into the room. He skids on the wet floor but manages not to fall; gets to where Michael is and wrenches the nozzle back the other way to shut off the water. Michael looks up and everything is just red, all Luke can see is red. Michael’s wet hair, plastered to his forehead, his eyes, his cheeks, the skin on his arms, and it isn’t blood but to Luke it might as well be.   
  
“What are you …” Michael begins, but the words fall away and he looks back down at his own knees. He’s so small like this, so helpless, and Luke wants to cry too.  
  
He kneels down in front of Michael, and touches his forearms gently. It’s like touching a stove. “Shit, Michael. You could’ve burned yourself.”  
  
Michael flinches away from his touch. “Leave me alone.”  
  
Luke shakes his head. “I can’t.”  
  
“Leave me alone!” Michael yells, the words bouncing off the walls and reverberating in Luke’s chest.   
  
“ _No_ ,” Luke insists. “C’mon, let’s … let me drive you home. Okay?”  
  
Michael shakes his head, but he doesn’t put up a fight when Luke grabs hold of his bicep and helps him to his feet. Luke puts an arm around his waist and walks with him – Michael isn’t injured, but he’s heavy, like he’s lost the will to move on his own. Then suddenly he comes back to himself, and he shoves Luke away from him.  
  
“Fuck off, Hemmings.”  
  
“I’m trying to help you!”  
  
“Who said I want your help?”  
  
Luke stares at him, shaking his head in disbelief. “What … what the hell did I ever do to make you hate me so much? I just came here to play, same as you, and from day fucking one it’s been like this with you and I didn’t even  _do_  anything!”  
  
Michael looks away, but Luke has officially lost patience with this. He steps forward, getting in Michael’s face like Michael did with his dad fifteen minutes ago. “No, I’m serious. I’ve fucking had it with this!”  
  
“Don’t,” Michael says, his nostrils flaring. “I’m warning you.”  
  
Luke doesn’t back down. He stares into Michael’s eyes, wanting Michael to scream or hit him or  _something_  so they can finally have this out and then maybe have a hope of moving past it. Michael just looks back, the air between then crackling with the tension of what might happen if somebody makes a move. Suddenly Luke feels sick again, and he doesn't know why. And then, out of nowhere, Michael’s kissing him. Michael’s in his space, his lips on Luke’s, and Luke kisses back as if on autopilot, his body taking over because his brain has forgotten how to function. He backs Michael up, crashing into the wall behind them, and holds him there, pushing his tongue into Michael’s mouth. Michael’s fingers find Luke’s hair and pull, tugging his head to the side so he can deepen it, rough and electric and so fucking good Luke’s head spins. Somebody moans. It was probably Luke. Dizzy, falling, spinning out of control into nothing where the only thing that matters is Michael’s lips and Michael’s tongue and Michael’s thigh pushing up between Luke’s legs. It’s dangerous and thrilling and angry and holy  _fuck_  they shouldn’t be doing this, Luke realizes like a punch to the gut.   
  
He pulls away, gasping for breath, the flavor of Michael still on his tongue. Michael doesn’t move. He leans against the wall, his head tipped back against it and his eyes closed, chest heaving like Luke’s is. Luke can’t think. He can’t breathe. He just needs to not be here anymore, that’s the only lucid thought that permeates the fog.   
  
“I … I’m sorry,” his voice croaks out, and then he runs away, unsure if Michael even heard him but it’s too late now anyway. Luke leaves everything behind, everything he brought with him this morning in the dressing room, and just walks, as quickly as he can. Out of the building, down the street, in the direction of his apartment. He’s wet and it’s cold outside and he doesn’t stop. Maybe if he goes fast enough, reality won't be able to catch up.


	6. six

Luke doesn’t sleep. He tosses and turns all night long, fitfully falling in and out of that  _almost_  asleep place but never quite making it the whole way. He’s confused and freaked out and doesn’t know how to handle any of it.  
  
It isn’t the first time Luke’s had thoughts that he figured he maybe isn’t supposed to. There was a friend of Jack’s, a few years ago. He was tall, before Luke hit his growth spurt and was still shrimpy. He had dark hair and a nice smile and stubble on his chin before everyone else did, and he was nice to Luke even though he didn’t have to be. Luke was just somebody’s dorky kid brother, but Alex always talked to him and smiled and him and seemed to care about him, and it used to make Luke feel funny inside. It made him feel the way he thought he was supposed to feel when a girl talked to him. He used to think about what it would be like to kiss him, to feel the scrape of that stubble on his cheek. If Alex’s lips would be soft, if the contrast would be nice. Luke used to hate himself for thinking it, though, so eventually he learned how to push it down. Alex moved away, anyway, so then it wasn’t a problem anymore.  
  
Sometimes it would come back. There’s an unwritten code in locker rooms that you don’t look at the other guys, but sometimes Luke broke it. Sometimes he’d peek when he got an opportunity, at young, male bodies, skin flushed from hard work and dappled in sweat, lean muscles running in hard lines down their backs. Sometimes when he’d touch himself in his bed at night, it wouldn’t be boobs and long hair and pink lips he’d think about.  
  
It never went anywhere, so Luke assumed it was just teenage confusion. He dated girls. He never loved any of them, but he was always gentlemanly like his mom taught him to be and when they wrapped their mouths around his dick, it felt good. Now, Luke’s forced to wonder again. Michael’s lips felt nice. They were softer than Luke was expecting. His strength made Luke’s heart race, the way he grabbed Luke and pulled on his hair and could have tossed Luke around if he wanted to. Michael is thin like Luke is, not quite old enough to be bulky yet, but Luke’s seen him lift in the weight room and he’s more powerful than he looks. Until now, Luke was always too busy being annoyed that Michael wasn’t nice to him to notice, but when he thinks about it, Michael has really nice … everything. His hair and his piercings make him look like he should be in a punk band but it works for him. And his eyes are round and green and his skin is pale and bright and he doesn’t smile very often, but Luke’s caught him doing it once or twice, and his lips are pretty and his teeth are white and straight and his eyes crinkle at the edges when he does.  
  
“Fuck,” Luke mumbles, out loud, to the empty room. He rubs his hands over his face, remembering the feeling of Michael’s mouth against his. Everything just got complicated.  
  
*           *           *  
  
There’s nothing Luke would like more than to just lie in bed and hide from the whole world the next day but he can’t. They’ve got back-to-back games, they’re playing again tonight and he has to be at the arena in just a few hours. He lies around for as long as he can, attempting to catch up on the sleep he missed all night, but it doesn’t work and sleeping too late always leaves him even more tired than if he hadn’t so finally he drags himself out of bed. Ashton seems to be able to tell something is wrong – he could last night, too, when Luke came home upset and wouldn’t talk about it – but he doesn’t ask, and Luke is grateful for it. He doesn’t need the pressure of having come up with something passably believable to avoid telling Ashton the truth.   
  
Luke’s head isn’t in the game. He’s supposed to be a professional; personal drama can’t affect his performance like this, but it does all the same. He makes a few stupid mistakes, turns the puck over, fans on shots he should have had control over, misses the net from two feet in front of it, trips over his own feet so many times the crowd starts sarcastically cheering when he manages to make it through a shift without falling. It shouldn’t, but it hurts because he’s stupid and upset, and Luke flops down on the bench to the sound of them jeering with a clenched jaw, furiously blinking tears out of his eyes. It doesn’t matter what happened, boys still don’t cry and Luke is not about to let himself do it.   
  
“Are you drunk or something?” Nathan asks, leaning over a few others to make sure Luke hears him.  
  
“Leave him alone,” Ashton snaps, from Luke’s right side. “How many have  _you_  put in the net tonight?”  
  
“He’s turned the puck over four times! Two of them almost cost us a goal!”  
  
“Yeah, almost. And then they didn’t, so fuck off,” Ashton returns angrily. Luckily his status as Captain affords him a certain amount of authority, and Nathan drops it.   
  
Luke stares aggressively straight ahead into nothing and squeezes his molars together so hard it hurts. He can see Michael, a few bodies down, out of the corner of his eye. His red hair isn’t easy to ignore. Michael’s looking at him, and Luke can’t look back. If Michael hated him before, it’ll just be that much worse now. Luke never should have kissed him.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Ashton asks quietly, so only Luke can hear him.   
  
“I can’t,” Luke manages to grind out. Ashton doesn’t push.   
  
They manage to squeak by with a 1-0 win, somehow – no thanks at all to Luke – so the atmosphere in the locker room is happy and excited and electric like it always is after a game, and Luke doesn’t feel any of it. He undresses like a zombie and heads for the showers, walking right into another body as he does because his head is too fogged up to pay proper attention.   
  
And it’s Michael, because of course it is.   
  
“Oh. I – ” Luke splutters.  
  
“I didn’t – ” Michael looks just as flustered and embarrassed as Luke does, “um, see you.”  
  
“Me neither.”  
  
“I … uh.” Michael fidgets and doesn’t finish the thought.  
  
“Sorry. I … sorry.” Luke ducks around him and takes off again for the showers.  
  
“Hemmings!” someone calls after him.  
  
Luke turns reluctantly, but it’s Brendan and he looks more concerned than annoyed.  
  
“What was that?” he asks, pointing behind himself.   
  
“Sorry. My head’s not right today, I know I cost us.”  
  
“Not the game,” Brendan clarifies. “I mean just now, with Clifford. That was the most awkward exchange I’ve ever seen, what’s up with you two?”  
  
Luke closes his eyes briefly and sighs. “Nothing.”  
  
“Doesn’t look like nothing. Did he do something to you?” The worried, uncomfortable look in Brendan’s eyes tips Luke off to what he’s really asking – he thinks Michael came on to Luke. Harassed him, even. Luke wants to cry again and then maybe punch something.  
  
“It … no. I can’t really talk about it. Sorry,” Luke mumbles again, turning back and taking off before Brendan can ask any more questions Luke can’t answer.   
  
He sees Michael’s dad, on his way to the parking lot. Just sitting in an old, idling car; waiting. The sight of him makes Luke’s stomach churn. He should tell someone. Security; or at the very least, Michael. But he’s a coward, so he doesn’t.   
  
Later, back at their apartment, Ashton doesn’t ask for an explanation but he sits next to Luke on the couch, close enough to pat his knee in a friendly, reassuring way. It’s just enough sympathy to knock Luke’s walls down a little, and emotion swells up in his chest, tight and uncomfortable.   
  
“It’s okay,” Ashton says softly, getting an arm around Luke’s shoulder and pulling him in a little. Luke leans against him because he can’t fight it, sniffing and wiping in annoyance at his wet eyes. He’s supposed to be stronger than this. He’s a hockey player for fuck’s sake, and he’s on a team full of mostly grown men with wives and scars and time-worn grit, and he’s just a scared, lost little kid who screwed up and doesn’t know how to handle it. He doesn’t belong here. Maybe he never did. If he isn’t tough enough to deal with this, he won’t be tough enough to deal with the rest of the difficult, stressful things that come with the life he’s chosen.  
  
Ashton just hugs him and doesn’t seem to care, though. Ashton is so different from the rest of them. He treats Luke the way his brothers did – teasing him relentlessly because that’s how the dynamic worked but standing up for him at all costs and being there for him when he needed it. Luke doesn’t deserve a friend as good as him. “You’re right not to lose it in front of them. But here it’s alright. It’s just me, right? You don’t need to put on a show for me.”  
  
Luke hates himself for the way he turns his face into Ashton’s shoulder and gives in to the tears searing behind his eyelids.  
  
“Whatever it is, we’ll fix it.” Ashton rubs Luke’s upper arm.  
  
“I don’t think we can,” Luke admits miserably. “Ash, I don’t …”  
  
“Everything can be fixed,” Ashton promises. “I told you I was gonna look out for you, right? That includes this. I don’t care what happened, I’ve got your back. It’ll be okay.”  
  
Luke wishes he could believe that.  
  
*           *           *  
  
“Alright, where the hell is Clifford? Has anyone heard from him?” Coach Therrien asks.  
  
Luke looks around, gauging the reactions of his teammates. Calum looks worried. Ashton looks curious. No one else seems to care. Michael didn’t turn up for practice today, or to the meeting they had the day before. Luke’s pretty sure he knows why, but it isn’t good. Skipping practice isn’t okay. The Coach looks pissed, and he should be. Even in junior, Luke knew you always showed up for team things unless you had a really, really good reason not to. And even then, you told the coach  _before_  that you weren’t going to be there. Michael’s breaking one of the most important rules. They have a game tomorrow, and if he skips that he’ll be in danger of getting benched, or fined even. Not coming to a game would be breaking his contract.  
  
“Can someone call him?” the Coach asks, looking toward the training staff.  
  
Luke swallows thickly, pushing past his nerves, and speaks up. “I’ll go. Check on him, make sure he’s okay.”  
  
Everyone looks at him, and Luke blushes. He doesn’t spend a lot of time discussing it with his teammates, but they all know Michael and Luke don’t get along. It’s pretty far from a secret. Luke’s lost count of the number of guys who’ve come up to him in private to tell him, “Michael’s a dick, don’t worry about it.” He wonders now if anyone’s ever said that to Michael about Luke. He doubts it.  
  
Coach Therrien shrugs. “Alright. Fine by me. Back here by three tomorrow, guys.”  
  
The practice breaks up, and Luke showers and dresses quickly because he’s anxious.  
  
“What’s gotten into you?” Ashton asks him quietly, getting changed beside him.  
  
Luke shrugs and tries to come off nonchalant. “Skipping isn’t something you just do. Maybe something happened to him.”  
  
“So call the police.”  
  
“I will, if I need to.”  
  
Ashton frowns. He isn’t buying Luke’s casual attitude, he can tell something is up. He knows Luke too well. “Do you want me to come with you?”  
  
Luke shakes his head and avoids eye contact because he’s never been a very good liar. “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later, okay?”  
  
He hoists his bag over his shoulder and walks out before Ashton can answer.  
  
*           *           *  
  
Luke knows the code to get into Michael’s building because he saw it once, written on a scrap of paper stuck to Calum’s fridge with a magnet shaped like Yoda. He finds the apartment he knows is Michael’s and knocks tentatively on the door, with no idea what to expect when it opens.  _If_  it opens. For all Luke knows, he realizes, Michael’s dad could have done something to Michael after Luke left the arena two days ago. Luke saw him there, in his car. Michael could be dead. Luke’s heart speeds up. He’s such a fucking idiot for not thinking to check up on Michael sooner. He should have gotten the phone number from Ashton or Calum. The last two whole days, Luke had knowledge that might make everyone else more concerned about Michael’s unexplained disappearance, and he kept it to himself. He’s such an idiot.  
  
He knocks on the door again, louder because his first try went unanswered. Then he bangs on it with his fist, getting scared and just about ready to try kicking it in like the FBI does on TV, in when it finally swings open.  
  
“ _What_?” Michael’s voice answers, before his body comes into view. He’s dishevelled when Luke finally catches sight of him, in boxers and a Pittsburgh Steelers jersey and one sock, his blood-red hair messier than usual. There are dark circles under his eyes; his already pale skin is paler than Luke’s ever seen it. He looks like he hasn’t slept since they last saw each other. Luke hasn’t either. But he’s okay, he’s alive at least. Luke lets out a breath.  
  
“Shit,” he mutters.  
  
Michael glares at him. “What the fuck are you doing here?”  
  
“You didn’t show up at practice today. Everyone’s worried about you.”  
  
“No they aren’t. And I’m fine,” Michael says, with a dramatic eye-roll.  
  
“Then where have you been?” Luke challenges. He knows Michael isn’t fine.  _Michael_  knows Michael isn’t fine. Luke doesn’t understand why they have to play this game.  
  
“Why did they send you?” Michael asks, instead of answering Luke’s question.  
  
“I offered to check on you.”  
  
“ _Why_?”  
  
Luke stares at him, and wishes Michael would invite him inside so they didn’t have to do this with Luke standing in the hallway. Michael holds all the cards – any time he chooses he could just slam the door and that would be the end of it. “You know why.”  
  
“No, I don’t.” Michael raises his eyebrows, playing dumb, and Luke loses patience in it all.  
  
“Because. Because I don’t know why you skipped today, if it’s because of what happened with your dad, or what happened with you and me, but it’s one of them. And I’m the only person other than you who knows about either, so. I figured I should be the one to come make sure you’re okay.”  
  
“No one else knows? About … what happened?”  
  
Luke assumes he’s talking about the fight with his dad, not their tryst in the shower. Michael’s smart enough to figure Luke wouldn’t go around telling people about the latter. “No.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I didn’t tell them.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“I didn’t think you’d want me to.”  
  
Michael frowns, like he doesn’t quite know how to react to that information. “You don’t owe me any favors.”  
  
Luke shrugs. “It isn’t about favors. You’re my teammate. Look, can I just … can I come in so we can talk about this?”  
  
Michael rolls his eyes again and walks away from Luke, further into his apartment. Luke thinks, okay, this is good. This is going to be it, they’ll talk and maybe yell a little and sort everything out and hopefully they can at least walk away with a mutual agreement to be civil. Then in the space of a moment, Michael changes his mind, walks back to the door, and flings it shut in Luke’s face.


	7. sept

For a minute, Luke just stands there, blinking. He’s in shock, maybe, because he really didn’t think Michael would do that. He’s dumbstruck. Then, he’s about to turn and leave. This whole thing is so stupid but Luke is out of constructive ways to bridge the gap between him and the guy on the other side of the door, and since he’s pretty sure he’d lose if they physically fought – Luke is bigger, but Michael’s angry – it’s probably better to just go home and attempt to forget about the whole thing. Luke isn’t naturally aggressive when he’s off the ice and running away is sort of his default. But then something inside him breaks. He’s been running away from conflict his whole life, and it’s never satisfying. He isn’t leaving. He doesn’t care what Michael wants. He isn’t going to just let Michael  _do_  this, let him call all the shots and dictate what Luke’s allowed to say and what Luke’s allowed to feel.  
   
Luke roughly twists the knob and pulls the door back open – thankful it isn’t the kind that locks automatically like in a hotel – and barges into Michael’s place. He stomps down a short hallway and finds Michael on a couch, his half-socked feet up on the coffee table and his arms crossed over his chest. He looks up at Luke, face falling instantly into a frown.  
   
“What the hell, Hemmings?” he demands, flipping his feet off the table, posture suddenly aggressive.  
   
“I’m not playing this game with you anymore, that’s what the hell!” Luke yells. Any hold he once had on his temper is entirely gone. “We are having this out, right the fuck now. You are going to tell me what I ever did to you so I can tell you I’m sorry and I didn’t mean to and then maybe punch you a little because  _God_  you’re an asshole, and then we are going to put this behind us. Okay? I’m not joking. I’m sick of it.”  
   
Michael shakes his head – not like he’s saying no, like he doesn’t know  _what_  to say.  
   
“And we kissed, Michael,” Luke barrels on. “That’s the other thing. You can look at me with those stupid blank eyes and pretend it didn’t happen all you want but it did happen. I played like  _shit_  the other day because of all this and I’m not letting that happen again. So we need to do this. Now.”  
   
Michael glares for another few seconds and then the look slips away from his features and melts into something else, something Luke can’t identify. Luke is breathing hard, amped up and ready for Michael to scream back at him, but Michael doesn’t. He shrinks in on himself a little, crossing his arms over his chest again like he’s protecting himself.  
   
“You’re right,” he says quietly.  
   
“I’m – what?” Luke wasn’t expecting that. Michael’s fought him every step of the way for months, Luke wasn’t expecting him to just lay his arms down like this.  
   
“I’ve got some shit going on right now,” Michael says, slowly; carefully. Like he doesn’t want to reveal too much. “Shit that has nothing to do with you, but I treated you like it was your fault and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”  
   
They’re words Luke never in a million years thought he’d hear coming out of Michael’s mouth. He doesn’t know how to deal with apologetic Michael any more than he knows how to deal with asshole Michael. Luke doesn’t know what to say. What comes out of his mouth when he opens it, is, “Tell me about what happened your dad.”  
   
Michael sighs. He leans back and tips his head onto the tops of the cushions. “He’s a dick.”  
   
“Yeah, I got that.”  
   
Michael doesn’t continue for a moment. Luke stays silent and waits. “He hates who I am … what I am.”  
   
Luke figured that much out for himself, but he doesn’t say it. “Would he have hurt you? If security hadn’t come in when they did?”  
   
“I don’t know. Maybe. He might’ve tried.”  
   
“He’s done that before, then,” Luke sums up.  
   
Michael nods. “He tried to beat the gay out of me for a while. When I was younger. Before I was strong enough to fight back.”  
   
Luke swallows over the lump in his throat. The thought horrifies him. “I saw him, the other day. In the parking lot, after the game. When you didn’t show up today I was worried he did something to you. I should’ve come check on you sooner, or at least sent Calum. I’m sorry I didn’t.”  
   
“It’s not your job to babysit me,” Michael says, with a half shrug.  
   
“We’re teammates, it’s my job to try to help if I think you’re in danger. I’m sorry,” Luke says again. He means it. He knows he shouldn’t have kept it to himself. If Michael dad  _was_  there to hurt him the second time, he might have succeeded and Luke could have stopped it from happening.  
   
“He just sat there and watched me. Watched me walk across the lot and get into my car and drive away.” Michael rubs his hands over his face and then lets them fall listlessly to his sides. “I thought maybe he was gonna follow me home, but he didn’t.”  
   
“Did you ever call the cops?” Luke asks. “When he’d hit you?”  
   
Michael shakes his head. “I didn’t think anyone would believe me. Anyway, it’s not … it doesn’t matter.”  
   
“It matters,” Luke counters. He doesn’t have a follow-up, though, so the line of communication between them goes dead for a few minutes. Michael doesn’t move from the couch, still leaned back and staring at the ceiling above, and Luke hovers awkwardly near the entrance to the room and wonders what he should do next.  
   
“I’m sorry I kissed you,” Michael says finally. “I really shouldn’t have done that.”  
   
Luke shakes his head. “It’s okay.”  
   
“No, it really isn’t,” Michael argues. “I know you aren’t … and it was shitty of me to put that on you. I’m so mad at myself. That’s the one thing I promised myself I was never gonna do.”  
  
“What is?”   
  
“‘Cause it’s like what everybody says, right? The reason no one wants a gay guy on their team. ‘Cause they’re all worried he’s gonna perv on all the straight guys. It’s the big joke. I promised myself I wouldn’t. I wanted to prove them wrong. And then I fucking did it anyway.” Michael shakes his head, sounding disgusted with himself, and Luke feels horribly for him. It’s no wonder Michael’s so unhappy all the time. There’s so much weight on his shoulders. “I’m not in love with you or anything, okay? Just so you know, so you’re not freaked out. You’re safe. It was a heat-of-the-moment type thing.”  
  
Luke bites his lip. “I know that. I’m not freaked out. It's not like you attacked me or something. I mean, I … I kissed back.” Luke’s heart races even saying that, even though they both already knew it. And he is freaked out, just not for the reason Michael’s thinking.  
   
Michael lifts his head and looks at Luke, his eyebrows coming together like he’d just now realized that. The spikey piercing in his brow moves, and Luke tracks it with his eyes. “Yeah, you did. What’s up with that?”  
   
“I don’t know.” Luke fidgets nervously. He has trouble admitting this to himself most days; the thought of both saying it out loud and saying it out loud to someone who doesn’t even like him is terrifying.  
   
“Are you …?”  
   
“I’ve had … like, thoughts. You know? When I was growing up and stuff. Other, um, boys. In the locker room. I just … I always pushed them away, because we’re athletes. We're not supposed to be …”  
  
“Gay,” Michael finishes, so Luke won’t have to. Luke nods gratefully. “Yeah. I know how that goes.”  
  
  
“I dated girls, though. So I don’t know. Maybe I’m both, a little.” The admission makes Luke too hot inside, makes him wish the floor would open up and swallow him into a black hole.  
   
Michael nods a little. “Okay. Well. It’s … you don’t owe me an explanation. We’re not even friends.”  
   
“It must suck to be out sometimes. That’s … you’re braver than me. I mean, I’m not saying I  _am_  … that. Just. If I was.”  
  
“It is insane how much it sucks.” Michael laughs coldly. “I’m not brave. My dad caught me with a boy from my team when I was 15. He told everyone. Everyone he could. My coach, my teammates. Every scout he could get a hold of. He tried to call Gary Fucking Betman, but no one ever called back. That’s why I’m out. Because he shoved me out. It wasn’t my choice. It still isn’t.”  
  
“Why would he do that?”  
  
“He was trying to ruin my future career. Make it so that I’d never get signed. He thought no one would want to be on a team with a faggot.”  
  
Every piece of information Luke’s learned about Michael’s dad in the few days since he became aware of the man’s existence just makes Luke hate him, maybe more than he’s ever hated anyone. Michael doesn’t deserve any of it. “He was wrong.”  
  
Michael rolls his eyes. “Yeah. But it’s not exactly the rainbow parade of acceptance you’re imagining.”  
   
“The team doesn’t care,” Luke says, but as the words are on their way out of his mouth, it occurs to him that maybe that isn’t quite true. He’s never seen anyone outright have a problem with Michael, but when he thinks about it, no one but Calum seems too eager to be Michael’s best friend, either. They all sort of just give him space, interact with him when they have to and leave him alone when they don’t. All this time Luke had been assuming it was because Michael is a jerk who’s alienated himself by being rude to everyone when they hadn’t done anything wrong, like he was to Luke. But now Luke wonders if maybe it happened the other way around. Maybe Michael is a jerk because everyone else was first.   
   
“They care,” Michael says softly. “Everyone does. Why do you think I hate being out? It’s not because I'm ashamed of who I am. It’s because  _they_  are. Everyone else. And not just the team. I mean, for the most part, at least the worst they do is ignore me sometimes. It’s the rest of the world. Do you think I like being in tabloids all the time? That my claim to fame is that I’m the gay one? That people who don’t even like hockey know who I am, that all anybody seems to care about is that, instead of whether I’m any good at my job?”  
   
Luke presses his lips together. It’s the most he’s ever heard Michael talk at one time before. And the words are so raw and honest, it makes Luke’s chest hurt. It makes him rethink every bad thought he’s ever had about Michael. He was wrong, about everything. He wishes he could tell Michael that in a way that wouldn’t sound pitying.  
   
Luke walks slowly over and tentatively sits down next to Michael, a foot of space still between them so Michael doesn’t get the wrong idea, holding his breath for a moment as he waits for the blow-back. It never comes, though, so Luke settles a little more.  
   
“I’m sorry. That’s really shitty.”  
   
Michael huffs his agreement. “You weren’t any different, were you?”  
   
“What?”  
   
“The second you walked into Cal’s apartment that first day. I saw your face. You recognized me right away. Looked at me, like, oh, it’s him. It’s that guy. And I thought, fan-fucking-tastic, he’s not even officially on the team yet and already he’s another person who only cares about that one thing.”  
   
“I …” Luke shakes his head. “If I looked at you that way? It’s just because I was surprised to see you, because I wasn’t expecting you to be there. Okay? I swear. And for what it’s worth, I cared about your stats, your talent. Before I knew you.”  
   
Michael pauses for a moment. He twitches a little, like he wants to look at Luke but holds himself back. “What do you mean?”  
   
“Your season last year? Michael, it was incredible. It was all anybody could talk about on my junior team. You just exploded onto the scene out of nowhere and played circles around everyone. You were out-shooting the top goal scorers in the league. Who’s the last rookie that had a season that insane, Teemu Selanne? You were … inspirational,” Luke tells him, being fully honest about it because there’s no reason to lie anymore. “We used to watch tapes of your games, at practice. My coach would use you as an example, to teach us how to be better. And yeah, we knew you were gay. We knew you were always in the news for some stupid thing. But we didn’t care about that. We just couldn’t believe how good you were. Are.”  
   
Michael nods slowly. He sniffs and drags the back of his palm under his nose. “Thanks,” he says, thickly, sounding like he means it.  
   
“You beat your dad at his own game,” Luke continues. “You know that, right? I mean, he tried to destroy your chances of making it, and look what you did. You got drafted anyway. You had a season people will be talking about for years, the way they talk about Teemu's rookie year in Winnipeg. You got the Calder. You  _won_ , Michael. He didn’t.”  
   
“I know,” Michael sits forward again, resting his elbows on his knees and staring at the carpet between his feet. “And sometimes I can remember that. Then other times I remember that my own team doesn’t even like me because of what I am. I just scored enough goals that people were willing to look the other way.”  
   
“That’s always what I was afraid of,” Luke admits. “That I wouldn’t be that good. That a team would be on the fence about me, and they’d choose to pass because of that one thing.”  
  
Michael nods. “It happens. Happened to the kid my dad caught me with. He’s stuck on a farm team. The Sabres looked at him, but he wasn’t good enough to be worth the hassle.”  
  
“That fucking sucks,” Luke says bluntly.   
  
“Yeah. It does.”  
  
“What about Calum?” Luke asks. They’re so tight, he can’t imagine Calum having a problem with it.   
  
“Calum is my best friend,” Michael says, a soft smile momentarily curling his lips. “Has been since we were eight. He doesn't care what I am.”  
  
Luke nods. "That's good."   
  
“Ashton doesn’t either, by the way,” Michael adds, even though Luke didn’t ask. Luke thinks maybe Michael says it so Luke knows he could talk to Ashton about this, if he needed to. “He’s a really good guy. Good Captain.”  
   
They fall silent again, and Luke glances briefly around Michael’s apartment – or, what he can see of it from where he’s sitting. It looks like Luke would have imagined, if he’d ever bothered to imagine, based on what little he knows about Michael. It’s cluttered, in a casual, homey way. There’s an electric guitar on a stand in the corner, and an acoustic on the ground next to it. Luke wonders if Michael plays. There is an enormous wooden bookcase, stuffed full of cardboard record coverings and the plastic jewel cases that hold CDs. There has to be a thousand of them, if Luke squints he can make out a few titles, everything from Disturbed to Frank Sinatra. There are framed, blown up pictures on the walls taken at concerts – from within a mosh pit, based on the angle – and they look unprofessional, like Michael probably took them himself.  
   
“Is that Greenday?” Luke asks, pointing to one.  
   
Michael smiles a little bit. “Yeah. That was the first show I ever went to. I was ten. It was awesome.”  
   
“I never saw them. I’m jealous.”  
   
“You like Greenday?” Michael looks at him, frowning and smiling at the same time.  
   
“Also Sleeping With Sirens.” Luke points to a t-shirt he can see draped over the back of a chair, with the lyric  _sometimes you gotta fall before you fly_  written in red, block lettering.  
   
“Fuck,” Michael mutters.  
   
“Can I ask you something?” Luke begins, tentatively. “Keeping in mind that I’m not trying to pick another fight, I just honestly want to know?”  
   
“Sure.”  
   
“How come you hate me?”  
   
Michael doesn’t answer for a minute. He exhales slowly and rubs his hands over his face again, pushing his messy hair back out of his eyes. “I don’t,” he says, eventually.  
   
“Then why are you … like, did I do something? Because if I did, I honestly didn’t mean to. I know that thing I said on the first day of camp was shitty, but it feels like more than that.”  
   
“It’s that thing, like you said. There’s a line, somewhere, between being good enough that they don’t care if you cause trouble, and not being that good. Right now, I’m worth it. I help us win, so they put up with me. But what happens if that’s not true anymore?”  
   
Luke frowns. “You’re worried about getting traded?”  
   
“Everybody gets traded. I’m worried about getting cut loose. Turning into an unrestricted free agent who fades into obscurity because nobody wants him, nobody wants to deal with having a gay guy on their team. You’re good, Luke. That’s why I was a jerk. You’re better than me. And if I’m not the best … then one day, they’ll realize I’m replaceable.”  
   
“It isn’t a competition.”  
   
Michael huffs. “It’s professional sports. It’s the exact definition of a competition.”  
   
“Not between you and me, I mean. We’re on the same side, Michael. One of us doing well doesn’t have to be a threat to the other person. We’re supposed to be in this together.”  
   
Michael nods slowly. “Yeah. I know that. I’m sorry. I’ve been shitty.”  
   
“I understand why. I just … I don’t know. This thing is so stupid, with us. Do you think maybe we could forget about it and at least try to be friends?”  
   
“It wouldn’t suck if one more person on the team didn’t hate me.”  
   
“I don’t think they hate you.”  
   
“They should. I’ve been a dick to all of them. Sometimes I’m not even sure how it happened. Which one came first. ‘Cause everyone knew about me, before I got here. The whole hockey world did, thanks to my dad. I wasn’t just the new kid, I was the gay kid, and that … having that in front of you? Knowing that no matter how good or bad you are, that’s the only thing people are really interested in?”  
   
“Must’ve been hard,” Luke says, sympathetically. He isn’t patronizing Michael, either. He can’t imagine how much that must’ve sucked.  
   
“I’m not sure, sometimes, if they were jerks to me first so I was a jerk right back, or if I came in here expecting them to hate me, acting like they hated me before they even did, so then they started to.”  
   
“They’ve all been really cool to me since I got here. I …” Luke pauses, to get his words sorted before he speaks them. “I don’t think they’re bad guys, Michael. I think they want to be your friend. I just think maybe they don’t know how.”  
   
Michael peeks at Luke for just a moment from under the fringe of his bangs. He looks almost hopeful. “Think maybe that’s something you could help me with?”  
   
Luke smiles. “Yeah. Of course I can.”


	8. huit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [hello blueberries. just wanted to let you guys know that I lost the document I was writing this story in, so updates may come slower from now on as I attempt to rewrite everything I'd written and also not smash my head continuously into a wall]

Luke takes his new job seriously. He’s drawn to Michael, even if he can’t quite explain why, and Michael deserves to be part of the team more than he is. He’s been through enough, his own teammates should at least have his back. He makes a point of chatting with Michael, in the locker room and at practice, hoping others will see him do it and decide Michael isn’t going to bite if they start up a conversation. It happens slowly, but it does work. After a week or two, the others start doing the same. Ashton and Calum help too – unknowingly – mostly just seeming to enjoy the fact that Luke and Michael don’t hate each other anymore which means the four of them can spend time together. Luke never got the impression that Calum disliked him specifically, just that he was loyal to Michael. And Ashton always seemed a bit unhappy to be stuck in the middle.   
  
Luke has gotten to know Brendan a little in the last few months, because living across the hall from Calum has sucked him and Ashton into the prank war. Ashton joined in on Calum’s side, so Luke joined in on Brendan’s. Last week they put maple syrup in the shampoo bottles Calum keeps at the rink. The two of them spend the odd night in Brendan’s apartment plotting, so Luke decides to invite Michael one time. Michael is hesitant but Luke insists, so he comes. Brendan is easy-going, Luke knows that much about him from their months of casual friendship, and he warms up to Michael instantly now that Michael isn’t about glaring at people and being defensive and rude to them for no reason.  
  
Brendan suggests they freeze all of Calum’s supplements into blocks of ice. Michael offers to go undercover because he’s the only one of them who’s allowed to just walk into Calum’s apartment unquestioned. Calum is nuts about working out and lifting and all this whey protein and caffeine pills and other things Luke doesn’t even know about, so it’s a fantastic idea. Brendan loves it, and Michael looks happy, and Luke is more than pleased with how it all turned out.   
  
Michael goes, and comes back a half hour later with an overflowing armful of bottles and jugs of protein powder.  
  
“Holy shit,” Brendan laughs, watching Michael dump them all onto the couch. “Does he seriously take all these? How has his heart not stopped?”  
  
“They’re not ‘roids,” Michael says. “They’re all, like, natural shit. Plant-derived whatever. Hippy stuff.”  
  
“A real prank would be calling the press and telling them  _that_ ,” Brendan points out, with another chuckle and a shake of his head. “The Habs resident goon is into freakin’ natural medicine and kale and shit. What a knob.”  
  
“Hey, watch who you’re calling a knob.” Michael points pretend-threateningly at Brendan. “That’s my bro.”  
  
“Well he’s a  _nice_  knob,” Brendan jokes. “I like the guy. He’s just …”  
  
“A knob,” Michael finishes.  
  
Luke giggles. “You two need to stop saying that word.”  
  
“Do you think any of this garbage actually works?” Brendan rummages through the bottles, picking up a few and squinting at the ingredients. “This one just says  _promotes natural wellness_. What the fuck does that even mean?”  
  
“He game me this silver extract once when I thought I was getting sick,” Michael tells him. “It tasted weird but it totally worked. I didn’t get sick.”  
  
“Dude, that’s like somebody coming to the door and selling me tiger insurance, and then when I don’t get attacked by a tiger because they don’t live here going ‘See, it worked!’”  
  
Michael laughs. “Maybe.”  
  
“What even is a toxin?” Luke asks. “It’s not a real thing, right?”  
  
Michael shrugs. “Probably not. But whatever. He’s into this shit, so let’s fuck with him.”  
  
They fill Tupperware containers with a bottle each and water to the brim, and then stick them onto Brendan's snow-covered balcony to freeze overnight. The next morning, Michael and Luke come back before the sun is even up, and Michael uses his spare key to let them back into Calum’s apartment while he’s still sleeping to hide the frozen blocks in various places around his kitchen and bathroom. It’s so, so hard to be quiet, when all Luke wants to do is laugh. Then they sneak back across the hall and watch crappy early-morning television in Luke’s living room, waiting.   
  
The shouting starts an hour later, muffled because it’s through two thick walls, but they can hear it anyway, and they all crack up. A few seconds later there’s pounding on the door, followed by Calum yelling, “Ash, if you fucking let Gallagher into my place while I was asleep I am going to rip that flat-screen from the wall and throw it off the roof!”  
  
Ashton skids out of his bedroom, in boxers and a t-shirt and sleep-messy hair, blinking in confusion at the noise and his three teammates in stitches on the couch. “What the hell is going on?” he cries. “What, are you having a book club meeting? Does somebody wanna get the damn door?”  
  
“Ashton!” Calum’s voice bellows from the outside.  
  
“I think it’s for you,” Michael chuckles.   
  
Ashton stares at them like they’ve all lost their minds. It makes the whole thing that much funnier. Then he goes over to wrench the door open. Calum shoves his way inside, his harsh words for Ashton cut off abruptly when his eyes settle on the people he should really be mad at. None of them can contain themselves. Luke laughs until his sides hurt and tears roll down his face.  
  
“Oh my god,” Calum mutters. “It’s a god damn mutiny!”  
  
“What did you guys do?” Ashton asks. He’s trying really hard not to smile, Luke can tell.  
  
“Every fucking supplement from my bathroom is currently sitting in a melting block of ice on my kitchen floor,” Calum tells him, and a small, strangled laugh bubbles up out of Ashton uncontrollably. “I thought you were on my side!”  
  
“Sorry,” Ashton giggles. “That’s a really good one.”  
  
Brendan whoops loudly. “Your move, Hood!”  
  
“You think I’m not gonna tag you back?” Calum asks, pointing a finger in their direction. “All three of you are on my list. Especially you!” he adds, to Michael. “You’re supposed to be my best friend!”  
  
“It was too good an idea,” Michael laughs, apologetically. “I couldn’t resist.”  
  
“Yeah. Just fuckin’ remember that when I’m …” Calum grumps, and then gestures around aimlessly when nothing immediately comes to mind. “Don’t get comfortable, is what I’m saying. I’ll think of something. And it will be epic and you dicks will  _deserve_  it.”  
  
Ashton throws an arm around him. “They got you, man. Plain and simple. Be okay with it.”  
  
“You’re all assholes,” Calum mutters, but Luke can tell he isn’t really angry.  
  
“That was amazing,” Brendan pronounces, high-fiving Luke and Michael. “Except it’s still balls early and we don’t have to be at the rink until like three.”  
  
“Oh, I feel so bad for you,” Calum says sarcastically.  
  
“Let’s be jerks and go wake up Carey and Em and Nate. Go out for a glutinous amount of bacon and eggs,” Ashton suggests, and then doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s heading for his room to get dressed.  
  
“You guys get Carey,” Brendan says. He walks out of the apartment, still chuckling and clapping Calum on the shoulder as he passes him.  
  
Calum glares half-heartedly at him. “You’re a dick,” he says to Michael.  
  
Michael jumps up and jogs over to him and wraps Calum up in a big bear-hug that Calum doesn’t return. “Sorry Cal-Pal. You gonna tell Mama Hood on me?”  
  
“Probably,” Calum mutters. He shoves at Michael, still mostly playing mad. “Get off. I guess I have to get dressed.”  
  
He leaves. Michael winks at Luke and then gestures grandly like a medieval prince for Luke to go ahead of him out the door. “After you, Princess.”  
  
“How gentlemanly,” Luke teases. He remembers the first time Michael called him that. Luke doesn’t mind it now. Then he yells, “Race you to the elevator!” and takes off running.  
  
Michael swears and the pounding of footsteps follows behind, but Luke’s head start has him easily reaching the metal doors at the end of the hall first. Michael catches up, laughing and pink-cheeked. “Are you five years old?”  
  
“I’m sleep deprived,” Luke corrects. The elevator dings and the door slide open, and Luke mimics Michael from before, bowing and holding the door for him.  
  
“Dork,” Michael says with a smile.  
  
“But when you do it, it’s super cool?”  
  
“Because  _I_ am super cool.”  
  
Luke laughs. “Okay. Sure. Whatever you say.”  
  
He bangs on Carey’s door way too loudly when they get there, and their goal-tender is dishevelled and confused looking when he opens the door.  
  
“Hi,” he says, politely even though he’s perplexed.  
  
“We’re going for breakfast,” Luke tells him. “All the guys from the building. And Michael.”  
  
Michael waves awkwardly and Luke cracks up again. It’s way too early for him to be this over-excited, but he still is.  
  
“Um.” Carey frowns, but doesn’t question it. Luke gets the feeling this isn’t the first time Ashton’s decided their group should do something together and everyone else was forced to just go along with it. Carey seems relatively familiar with how this works. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll meet you downstairs.”  
  
He closes the door. Luke grins at Michael, and the smile Michael sends back is so bright Luke could use a pair of sunglasses.  
  
*           *           *  
  
Max announces, after practice one day in December, that he’s found a new steakhouse they all have to check out. A few guys say they can’t go, but lots can so they all shower and get dressed.  
  
“You’re coming,” Luke tells Michael.   
  
“You don’t have to do this.”  
  
Luke plays dumb. “What am I doing?”  
  
“Look, it’s nice of you. Alright? Being, like, my friendship ambassador, lately. But it’s not –”  
  
“C’mon,” Luke insists. “Max didn’t say everyone but Michael. He just said everyone. These guys want you to be one of them. The only reason you’re not is because you assumed they wouldn’t like you before they even had a chance to get to know you. Right? That’s what you said.”  
  
Michael sighs. “I guess.”  
  
“I don’t guess, I know. You’re coming with us. And if it turns out you’re right and everyone else wants you dead, then you can just talk to me. And Ash, and Cal, and Brendan. We like you. That’s a good start. But I’m positive no one wants you dead. So.”  
  
Michael rolls his eyes a little, but Luke catches the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. Okay.”  
  
Michael is quiet at first, sitting at the table next to Luke, as if he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop and someone to ask what he’s doing here. But when no one does, he joins in the conversation. The guys talk back to him like he’s no different from anyone else, just like Luke knew they would, and Michael relaxes. He’s funny, when he doesn’t have his guard up. A few of the guys seem surprised by that, like Luke was at first, but they all fall into an easy rhythm of chatting and joking and give and take, and it makes Luke feel more cemented with this group that he’s ever been.   
  
*           *           *  
  
“Do you like Braveheart?”  
  
Luke knew it was Michael calling from the ID on his phone; luckily since Michael didn’t bother with  _hello_. “I have a dick, so yes. Obviously.”  
  
Michael laughs. “I haven’t seen it in forever but they just put it on Netflix so I was gonna watch. Wanna come over?”  
  
“Are you asking me on a bro date?” Luke teases, and then belatedly remembers that Michael’s gay and wants to kick himself for being so tactless.  
  
Michael just laughs again. “Yeah, I’m gonna bro wine-and-dine you. No, butt-face. I wanna watch men in skirts kill each other and eat an embarrassing amount of popcorn. You in or what?”  
  
“Did you just call me a butt-face?”  
  
“Is the friendship over?”  
  
“I  _guess_  not.” Luke sighs, pretending to be put-upon. “Okay. Yes, I’m in. Do you want me to tell Cal and Ash?”  
  
“Not this time.”  
  
Something warm flutters in Luke’s chest. “Okay.”  
  
Michael’s apartment is tidier than it usually is when Luke gets there. Michael greets him at the door with a smile, and Luke holds up a warm pizza box and a six-pack.  
  
“I was totally just thinking we should order a pizza,” Michael says. “Like literally eight seconds ago.”  
  
“Then let me in so we can eat it, this box is burning my hand.”  
  
Michael steps back and Luke goes into the kitchen, setting the box down on the marble-topped island.  
  
“Also I can actually buy beer here,” Luke adds. “So I guess Canada isn’t so bad.”  
  
Michael laughs. “Aw. That’s cute.”  
  
“Hey, you’re only 19. You couldn’t get it in the States either,” Luke points out.  
  
“I have my ways.” Michael waggles his eyebrows mischievously.  
  
Luke glances around, and that’s when he notices the difference in his surroundings. “Did you clean?”  
  
Michael shrugs. “A little. I was bored, waiting for you to get over here.”  
  
He doesn’t say anything about it, but Luke secretly wonders if Michael tidied up for him,  _because_  he was coming over. The thought makes others bubble up, ones Luke isn’t prepared to deal with yet. Luke shrugs out of his heavy winter coat and tosses it over a kitchen chair, and then turns to find Michael looking at him with raised eyebrows.  
  
“What?” Luke asks, suddenly self-conscious.  
  
“You’re wearing …” Michael gestures at him. “Dude, you look like me.”  
  
“Oh. Yeah.” Luke had almost forgotten. He went shopping yesterday, because he didn’t bring that many clothes and he was getting tired of wearing the same things over and over. Luke’s always loved the way guys in punk bands look, but he never had the courage to dress like them when he was growing up. Mostly because no one else did. At least no one Luke associated with. There were kids at his high school with dyed black hair and ripped jeans and stretchers in their ears, but they were the losers. The guys on Luke’s team laughed at them. Luke dressed like the rest of his friends did. But now he has Michael, and his confidence is contagious and Luke wanted to try skinny jeans and a red plaid flannel, so he did.  
  
“Oh yeah? Is there more of a story?” Michael asks.  
  
“Not really. I thought it looked cool.” Luke twists the edge of the shirt in his fingers. “I look dumb, don’t I. Fuck, I knew I couldn’t pull this off.”  
  
“No, no, you don’t,” Michael says quickly. “You look awesome!”  
  
Luke scrunches up his nose. “Really? You can tell me if I don’t.”  
  
“Seriously.” Michael looks like he means it. Luke is probably imagining the other thing he thinks he spots in Michael’s expression, because Michael isn’t into him like that. “You look badass. Now we just gotta get some tattoos on ya.”  
  
“My mother would honestly murder you.”  
  
Michael laughs. “Okay, no tattoos. Yet. C’mon, Billie Joe. Let’s watch Mel Gibson tear some shit up.”  
  
Halfway through the movie, something soft tickles Luke’s neck, and just as he’s turning to see what it is, Michael’s head lolls onto his shoulder.   
  
“Are you asleep?” Luke asks. Silence answers him. For a moment Luke isn’t sure what to do. He should probably get up, and leave. There’s probably a man-code for moments like this and Luke shouldn’t break it. He doesn’t want to leave, though. He’s comfortable and Michael is warm against him. His hair smells good. It’s a slightly troubling thought, so Luke shoves it away. He wrestles his arm out from under Michael and puts it over Michael’s shoulders, settling in with him and focusing back on the movie. Michael snuffles a little in his sleep and it’s way too cute. It makes Luke smile, the kind of stupid, dorky smile that he can’t get off his face.   
  
There’s a moment, later, when Michael shifts a little and turns his face into Luke’s neck. Luke’s skin prickles and his stomach lurches and he has to close his eyes for a moment. Just the way Michael moved, Luke is pretty sure he’s awake now, but is pretending to still be sleeping so Luke pretends too. He rests his head against Michael’s and tries really hard to ignore the tingling in his gut. Luke thinks he knows that feeling, he’s just terrified that he might be right.   
  
Michael wakes up as the credits start rolling and Netflix suggests they watch Gladiator next. “Oh,” he mumbles, pushing himself up and rubbing his eyes. “Fuck. Sorry. You should’ve kicked me or something.”  
  
Luke shrugs. “I didn’t mind.” It feels like a dangerous confession.  
  
Michael doesn’t answer and won’t look a Luke. It makes Luke’s skin prickle uncomfortable.  
  
“I want to show you something,” he says, to cover the awkward moment.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“It’s back at my place.” Luke stands up. “Get your coat.”  
  
“Yes, mom,” Michael jokes. Luke laughs, and the tension breaks.  
  
They walk through gently falling snow the few blocks to Luke’s building. Michael’s red hair looks like a Christmas decoration with white snowflakes in it. Luke takes him up to the roof, to the spot Ashton showed him this week. If he jiggles the handle on the door just right, it opens, and leads to some chairs Ashton put there last year and the most beautiful view of the city.  
  
“Whoa,” Michael says. That was Luke’s reaction too, the first time he was up here. “I didn’t know this was up here.”  
  
“Ashton showed me, the other day. I don't think any of the other tenants know, so it’s like his private patio.”  
  
“That’s awesome. The view in insane.”  
  
Michael walks to the edge and leans on the concrete half-way, and Luke does the same. He looks out over the city lights, blurred by the snow. The air is cool enough that their breath turns to fog, but there’s no wind, even this high off the ground. Luke thinks he could stay up here for hours. He thought the same a few days ago, when Ashton brought him up here, but with Michael standing next to him Luke means it more.  
  
“Can I ask you something?”  
  
“Sure.”  
  
“Your dad, is like …”  
  
“Yeah,” Michael agrees, when Luke isn’t sure how to word it. He knows you don’t insult your friends’ families, even if they deserve it.  
  
“So what about your mom?”  
  
Michael’s expression stays blank for a moment before he answers. Luke chances a sideways glance at him, but doesn’t want to stare. “My mom died. When I was a kid.”  
  
“Oh.” Luke cringes. “Shit. I’m sorry, Michael.” He wonders why he’s never heard that. It seems like something the media would have enjoyed pointing out, as a reason Michael turned out the way he did. He wants to ask what happened to her, but he doesn’t.  
  
Michael shakes his head. “You didn’t know.”  
  
“Do you have brothers or sisters?”  
  
“Nope. Just me and the guy that hates my guts.”   
  
Luke moves a little closer to him, so he can bump his shoulder against Michael’s sympathetically. “That really sucks. I’m sorry.”  
  
“I always had Cal,” Michael says with a shrug. “His family is the reason I made it this far. They let me move in, after my dad kicked me out. Drove me to all our practices and games and everything. They set up a bank account for me so my dad couldn’t take the money my mom left me. They became my family, you know? His mom yelled at me when I failed tests at school. His older sister Mali beat some kid up once for calling me a faggot.”  
  
The name sounds familiar, and then Luke remembers. “Is that who’s tattooed on Calum’s arm? With the bird?”  
  
Michael nods. “She’s amazing. They all are. It was a thousand-to-one shot we actually ended up on the same team. It shouldn’t have happened, really. But it did, so. That kinda saved me too.”  
  
“Why don’t you live together now? He has a spare room.”  
  
Michael shrugs. “We already spend all our time together. We needed our own space. He should be able to bring a girl home without having to explain the gay roommate.”  
  
“He wouldn’t care about that.”  
  
“I know. I care.”  
  
Luke nods. “Well. It’s good that you had them.”  
  
“I don’t even wanna think about where I’d be if I didn’t.”  
  
Luke doesn’t know what else to say, so they fall silent for a while. The soft buzz of noise from the streets below is soothing, like a low, constant hum, and the snow floating down blankets the space around them. Luke feels for a moment like no one else in the world exists.  
  
“Tell me about your family,” Michael says eventually.   
  
“They’re pretty normal. Mom, dad, two brothers. Ben and jack. A dog.”  
  
“Older or younger?”  
  
“The dog?” Luke jokes, and smiles when Michael laughs. He really likes Michael’s laugh.   
  
  
“No, moron.”  
  
“Older. They look a lot like me. Just not quite as tall.”  
  
“It’s annoying, how tall you are,” Michael tells him.   
  
“It is for me too, honestly. I’m always tripping over my own legs.”  
  
Michael laughs again.   
  
“They both played hockey, my brothers. They’re the reason I started. Wanted to be like them.”  
  
“Were they any good?”  
  
“They were great.”  
  
“But you were better.”  
  
“They’ve never forgiven me for it.”  
  
Michael smiles. More lights come on as the sky darkens, so their view sparkles. The other towers around them are outlined in shadows, silhouetted against the dark blue sky. It isn’t fully dark yet but almost, and Luke loves this point in the evening. He used to sit on the man-made beach with his friends while the sun set, talking about girls and how they’d all make the NHL one day. Luke is the only one who did. He misses them. And he wishes he could take Michael to that beach.  
  
“You’re really good, you know. I meant that, the day we talked about the thing with my dad.”  
  
“So are you,” Luke says honestly. “I meant what I said too, that people on my team talked about it.”  
  
“Good to know not everyone only cares about … the other thing.”  
  
“People are always gonna be fascinated by it, probably. Because it’s uncommon. But I think most other players just care about whether or not they can keep the puck away from you. And most of them can’t.”  
  
“We’d be unstoppable if Therrien put us on the same line.”  
  
“Hell yes, we would. I hope he figures that out.”


	9. neuf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a few people ask me what some of the other guys look like, so if anyone else is wondering, this is Brendan [here](http://hockeyandahalf.tumblr.com/post/114600671399/alex-crashing-brendan-interview) and [here](http://prustytute.tumblr.com/post/94132354992/brendan-gallagher-for-the-beauty-of-sport), and this sexy fucker is Carey Price [here](http://jvr21.tumblr.com/post/109023689438), [here](http://-careyprice.tumblr.com/post/111072959653), and [here](http://savedbyprice.tumblr.com/post/99599811668/carey-price-oh-shit-thats-me-x).

They get to go home over Christmas. Luke’s family meets him at the airport, and he isn’t embarrassed at all by the way he runs at them and hugs them tightly. He hasn’t seen them in almost four months, and that’s the longest he’s ever been away from them before.   
  
“We missed you so much!” his mom squeaks, her voice buried somewhere in the middle of their group hug. She’s the shortest of all of them by at least a foot.   
  
“Me too,” Luke says. He’s reluctant to let them go, although the flash of cameras in the periphery of his vision reminds him he should probably at least attempt to be cool or he’s going to start ending up on TMZ like Michael does.   
  
His house smells like gingerbread cookies and cinnamon candles when they get back to it, and it’s so warm and familiar that it takes Luke right back to Christmases from years ago when he was still just day-dreaming about being exactly where he is this year. Sometimes it’s like it all still hasn’t quite hit him yet.   
  
“Mom’s been working around the clock, baking all your favorites,” Ben tells him.   
  
“You didn't have to,” Luke says to Liz.  
  
She brushes the thought aside with her hand. “Of course I did. We’ve only got you home for two weeks, we have a lot of Christmas to fit in.”  
  
Luke can’t keep the smile off his face.  
  
“You seem happy,” Jack tells him later, when they’re the only two left on the couch, in front of a slowly dying fire. Ben’s gone out with his girlfriend, Andy and Liz went to sleep. The decorated tree sparkles next to the fireplace, and an orchestral recording of the Nutcracker Suite is playing quietly over the speakers behind them. Luke is tucked up with a blanket and Molly’s head in his lap, twitching as she dreams – probably about the rabbit that lives in their backyard and likes to taunt her. He misses having a dog around when he’s in Montreal.  
  
“I am,” Luke says honestly. “It’s been … awesome. I don’t know how to describe it. Dream-come-true doesn’t even seem big enough.”  
  
“That’s great, Lewy. We’re all really stoked for you. But I mean, like. You seem, y’know,  _happy_.” Jack waggles his eyebrows, and Luke is confused.   
  
“What’s the difference?”  
  
Jack fixes him with a knowing, big-brother look. “What’s her name?”  
  
Luke frowns. “Who? There is no her.”  
  
“Come on.” Jack shoves him lightly. “You can’t lie to me. I know that look. You’ve got it bad for somebody.”  
  
“Seriously, there isn’t anyone,” Luke says. “Life is just really good, that’s all.”  
  
Jack doesn’t seem to believe him, but drops the subject.  
  
Luke lies awake for a long time after he finally goes to bed. He stares at the ceiling in the darkness, his mind racing. Outside of the odd reporter or waitress, he hasn’t even  _spoken_  to a girl since he moved to Montreal. He hasn’t thought about one either – he’s been too busy, settling in and getting to know his teammates and finding where he fits with them, learning how to play at the professional level. A relationship has been absolutely the last thing on his mind.   
  
Except he kissed Michael. And he didn’t hate it. And now they’re friends, and Luke really likes him, and …  _oh_. It falls on Luke like an anvil. Luke  _likes_  him. That’s what Jack saw. That’s why Luke seems happy. Because he is happy. Because Michael talks to him now, and they spend time together, and when Luke closes his eyes he can see Michael’s smile and hear his laugh and it makes him feel warm inside.   
  
He reaches for his phone on the table next to his bed, flips through his pictures until he locates the one he’s looking for. Ashton took it, at an outdoor practice they held just before the holiday break so the fans could come and watch. A local kids team came out with them, and they all played a short game, letting the kids score and skating with their arms around the little bodies so the kids could feel what it was like to fly up the ice. It was really fun. Luke and Michael have their arms around each other in the pictures, no helmets, their cheeks flushed from the cold and wool hats pulled down over their ears. Michael’s smile is bright and genuine, and Luke looks at his own face – his squinted eyes and grin stretching from ear to ear. He looks … happy. Like Jack said. He looks like pictures he’s seen from when he was a little kid, when you just let your emotions show, before you grow up and get stuck wanting to look cool instead of overtly excited.   
  
He looks happier than Luke thinks he’s ever seen himself. He wonders what Jack would say, if he could see this picture. If he’d know, right away. If he’d be able to tell, that what’s been making Luke  _that_  kind of happy lately isn’t a girl.   
  
Luke drops his phone back down onto the wooden surface and rolls over, rubbing his hands over his face and then wrapping his arms around his own chest. “Fuck,” he mumbles to himself, turning his face into the pillow and curling up into a ball. He isn’t ready for this to be real, for what this will mean. Because it might be good. It  _could_ be amazing. But it sure as hell won’t be simple.   
  
*           *           *  
  
Luke has a fantastic week. He doesn’t do much, but he does it with his family, and he didn’t realize how much he missed them. They have dinner with old family friends. They watch Christmas movies. They eat way too much of Liz’s delicious baking. Michael texts him almost every day, and Luke loves that too. The only thing that could make this any better is if his friends were here. Luke sees some of his old friends, from school, but he quickly determines he likes his new ones better. Everyone in this town is so proud of him, and Luke isn’t crazy about the attention.  
  
Michael phones, on Christmas Eve. Luke’s face breaks into a smile as soon as he sees the name on the caller ID, and he ducks out of the kitchen and into his bedroom so his family doesn’t get to watch him talk to Michael. Luke’s sure he’ll go all giddy and happy and he really doesn’t need his brothers, especially, with bullets of that nature in their arsenal. They already have enough ammunition.  
  
“Hi,” he answers, slipping into his room and shutting the door behind him.  
  
“Merry almost Christmas!” Michael says brightly.  
  
“You too.” Luke sits on his bed. “What are you doing?”  
  
“I’m considering getting a cat.”  
  
Luke frowns and laughs. “What?”  
  
“‘Cause, like, you know. It gets lonely here when everybody leaves. At least if I had a cat, I could talk to it instead of to myself. It’s slightly less crazy.”  
  
“Wait, where are you?”  
  
“At my apartment, where else would I be?”  
  
There’s no good reason for it, but Luke hadn’t considered until just now that Michael would be alone over the holiday – that he doesn’t have a family to go home to like everyone else does. “Fuck, Michael, I didn’t even … I didn’t realize you were staying.”  
  
“Well. I’m going to Cal’s for dinner tomorrow. His family only lives a few hours away. But, yeah, it’s not like I’m gonna go home.”  
  
“They didn’t want you there tonight? And for like Christmas morning?” Luke’s throat feels tight. He should have thought of this sooner.   
  
“They did. I turned them down.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I don’t know. They’ve done enough for me. I’m not really part of their family, and that’s a family thing.”  
  
“I bet Calum would disagree with that.”  
  
“It’s …” Michael sighs. “I’m okay, Luke. Really. I’m used to being on my own.”  
  
“Just because you’re used to something doesn’t mean that’s the way it should be,” Luke argues. “I’m sorry. I should’ve offered to have you stay here.”  
  
“Your family wouldn’t want to spend the holidays with a complete stranger. Seriously, man. I’m fine.”  
  
Luke nods. He doesn’t entirely believe that’s true, but Michael doesn’t seem interested in continuing this conversation, so Luke lets it go.   
  
“Tell me what you guys do for Christmas,” Michael says. There’s shuffling in the background – Luke imagines Michael lying down as they talk, on the couch, maybe.   
  
Luke reclines too, lying on his back and putting his free hand behind his head. “We watch a movie together tonight. Elf or something probably, we all love Will Ferrell."  
  
“Understandable.”  
  
“And then we get up super early in the morning. Like, way too early. And then we all drink too much coffee and complain about how the sun isn’t even up and that we’re tired and should plan on waking up at a decent time next year. We never do, though.”  
  
Michael laughs softly. “You realize no one is making you get up before dawn, right?”  
  
“Yes. That’s the point.” Luke chuckles too, because it sounds so ridiculous when said out loud. “We all want to get up that early, but we also want to bitch about it.”  
  
“Sounds perfectly logical,” Michael jokes sarcastically.   
  
“It isn’t.” Luke presses his lips together, trying to hide his smile – although, from who, he doesn’t know, since he’s alone. From himself, maybe. “What did you used to do? When your mom was alive?”  
  
“My mom loved the holidays,” Michael says softly. “Our house, you should have seen it, there were more decorations than we even had room for. Every surface had something on it, and we were always tripping over mini trees and little stuffed reindeer and shit. It was a nuisance, more than anything. But it made her happy.”  
  
“I bet you loved it, too.”  
  
“Yeah. I did.”  
  
“Michael.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Please go to Calum’s. You know they want you to be there. Just ‘cause you’re not blood related doesn’t mean they aren’t your family.”  
  
Michael goes silent for a while, and Luke is worried he over-stepped the boundaries of their friendship and Michael is going to be angry. But then Michael’s voice is small and just a tiny bit hopeful when he says, “You think I should?”  
  
“ _Yes_ ,” Luke insists. “Do you want me to call him? ‘Cause I know he wouldn’t be above begging you to get your ass over there.”  
  
“You don’t need to do that,” Michael says, and Luke can hear his rolling eyes.  
  
“Your dad is a piece of shit,” Luke says, bluntly. He’s gotten over his hang-up about insulting the guy in front of Michael. “You gotta stop letting him make you believe no one wants you around. Calum loves you like a brother, and I bet his parents love you like a son. Go. Please.”  
  
“Yeah. Okay. Maybe … maybe I will.”  
  
Luke smiles. “Good. And don’t be surprised if you get thirty texts from me at like five in the morning.”  
  
“I’ll probably ignore them,” Michael laughs. “At least until a decent hour.”  
  
“Fair enough. Merry almost Christmas, Michael,” Luke says, repeating Michael’s greeting.  
  
“Thanks. You too.”  
  
Luke hangs up, and then lies there with his eyes closed and a smile tugging at the corners of his lips for a really, really long time.   
  
“Who was that, honey?” Liz asks casually, when Luke re-emerges from his bedroom.   
  
“Teammate,” Luke answers, trying to be non-nonchalant. It’s the truth, really, so it’s annoying that it comes out sounding like a lie.  
  
Jack grins wolfishly at him. “Teammate my ass. Lewy’s got a girlfriend.”  
  
Four sets of blue eyes turn toward Luke, with four sets of blond eyebrows raised over them.   
  
“I do not!” Luke protests, but his voice squeaks.   
  
“What’s her name?” Liz demands, indignant hands on her hips, like she’s offended he didn’t relay the information straight away.  
  
“He wouldn’t tell me,” Jack says. “He’s all shy and twitchy about it.”  
  
“Stop,” Luke whines, falling down into a kitchen chair and dropping his face onto his arms, folded across the table.   
  
“Shit, you must have it bad, kiddo,” Ben teases.  
  
“Alright, enough. Leave your brother alone. If he doesn’t want to tell us yet, then it’s none of our business,” Liz commands, and she’s listened to. At least for the time being.  
  
Calum sends Luke a text later while they’re all wrapped up in blankets on the couch, in front of a roaring fire, watching Buddy the Elf put maple syrup on pancakes.  _Did you have anything to do with Mikey just turning up at my house?_ it says.   
  
_Maybe ;)_ Luke sends back.  
  
_Dude. thank you. i told him for days we wanted him here, he wouldnt believe me. stubborn ass._  
  
_Have fun_ , Luke answers.  _merry xmas._  
  
Calum writes,  _u 2._  
  
Luke turns back to the movie. He smiles to himself for the millionth time today. Luckily the room is dimly lit, by only the fire and the TV screen, so no one else notices.   
  
*           *           *  
  
Michael meets him at the airport. Luke wasn’t expecting that. He knew Ashton wasn’t getting back for another day so he’d planned on taking a cab to their apartment. But there’s no mistaking Michael’s bright red head as Luke comes down the escalator. There’s a swarm of reporters and cameramen around him like there always is, but Michael barely seems to notice them. His eyes are focused on Luke. He gives Luke a cute, awkward little wave, and Luke returns it.   
  
“You didn’t have pick me up,” Luke tells him.  
  
Michael shrugs, and pulls Luke into a hug – although it’s the one-armed, bro-hug kind, because there are cameras on them, not the full-body kind Luke’s gotten accustomed to with Michael and Ashton. Ashton is just a hugger, and Michael … Luke’s never thought about it before. Maybe Michael likes him back. The thought is exciting, and terrifying. “Not like I had anything better to do. And I didn’t want you ending up murdered by a cabbie.”  
  
“I think cab drivers  _get_  murdered more often than commit them.”  
  
“You’re only making my point.” Michael grins at him, and Luke can’t help smiling back.   
  
“Are you two dating?” a woman with a microphone asks loudly, shoving it in between them.  
  
Michael’s expression hardens, and he turns in the direction of the cameras. Luke sees flashes of the Michael he first met, months ago, as he glares at them. “He’s a teammate, idiots. It’s okay. I know it’s hard to keep up. If you only had a brain, right?”  
  
He turns back to Luke and takes his elbow, leading him away from them toward the exit.  
  
“I have to get – ” Luke starts.  
  
“I’ve got a trainer collecting your bags,” Michael says, voice low and right into Luke’s ear. “We don’t need to stand around waiting while these dicks film us.”  
  
“Luke, is it weird to be on a team with Michael? Knowing he might be looking at you in the showers?” a different reporter asks, hurrying to keep up with them.   
  
Luke turns to the guy, and angrily says, “No!” but Michael takes over.   
  
“If you don’t get that camera out of his face I’m going to break it over yours,” he snarls, shoving past the guy and all but hauling Luke out the door. They get into a waiting town-car, and speed away before anyone else manages to ask a question Luke can make out over the din of them all talking at once.   
  
Luke seethes about it once they're away from the airport. “That fucking – ”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Michael interrupts. “I should have realized that would happen.”  
  
“ _You’re_  sorry?” Luke repeats loudly. “This isn’t your fault! How can they – do they really do that all the time? Everywhere you go?”  
  
“Not everywhere. You’ve been out with me before and they haven’t found us. But a lot of the time, yeah.” Michael shrugs. “You get used to it.”  
  
Luke shakes his head. “I don’t know how you could get used to that. And you shouldn't have to! That’s … it isn’t fair.”  
  
Michael reaches over and touches Luke’s leg, squeezes the meat of it gently and then lets his hand fall away. “You know what, though? Yeah, that whole thing is shitty. I hate it, I really do. But last year, I had to deal with them on top of the fact that nobody liked me except Cal. This year, that’s not true, and that’s because of you. You made everything a lot better.”  
  
Luke can’t ignore the way Michael’s words make him feel, even if he’s still furious about the way Michael gets treated in the world. He can’t even imagine how much worse it would be if they _were_  dating. It’s the one thing still holding him back. When Michael smiles at him, though, Luke forgets why he’s bothering to pretend it doesn’t light him up inside.


	10. dix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at thissssssss [tryhards](http://tryhards.tumblr.com/post/114956214273/fic-rec-arcadia-by-paperstorm-luke-likes-him) made it for me *weeps* Literally cried when I saw it, not at all too cool to admit that.
> 
>  

Luke lasts about a week before he caves.  
  
He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about everything, what Jack said, and how Michael’s smile makes him feel, and the memory of their kiss in the shower; heated and angry and passionate. It haunts Luke in his dreams, wakes him up sweaty and hard and frustrated. He gets himself off some nights wondering if Michael’s pale skin is as soft as it looks, how he’d like to be touched, what he’d sound like if they were together. Being so busy with hockey for most of his life, Luke’s never had as much time for dating and girls as other teenagers do so he used to be relatively skilled at this, at making himself feel good. His own right hand has never felt so unsatisfactory, when all he can think of is what Michael’s hands would feel like, Michael’s lips, Michael’s mouth wrapped around him; those pretty lips stretched wide around his hard dick. The thought alone is enough to have Luke spilling over his fingers more than once.  
  
It scares him, the thought of having to tell his parents, and his team, and the rest of the world. He doesn’t want to end up like Michael did – cameras in his face and people in his business wherever he goes, reporters making snide, hurtful comments as if it’s their right to insult Michael right to his face just because he’s something of a celebrity. Just because he’s different. The thought of the team finding out makes Luke squirm in embarrassment, which makes him feel like a hypocrite and a coward after all this time he’s spent trying to convince Michael the team doesn’t care about who he wants to sleep with.   
  
On top of everything, Luke has to worry if Michael even likes him back. Michael’s never said he does, but Luke catches him looking, sometimes. Watching him with this soft, fond expression on his face, and Luke kind of thinks it’s the same expression he wears when he’s looking at Michael. He thinks – hopes – maybe that means something.   
  
They’re running shooting drills, at practice on a Monday. Luke’s always been a goal-scorer, so for the most part practices like this are right in his wheelhouse. He likes getting to hone his skills, and the younger brother in him likes the attention he gets from the other guys over his abilities. Most of the shots, he can ace. The wide-angle ones, though, from the icing line and into the top corner of the net, Luke’s never been any good at. He’s never scored from this position. He’s done these drills in his other leagues and they always frustrate him, because even without the pressure and frantic pace of a game, he still can barely get a puck in.  
  
Michael is the opposite. He’s annoyingly good at shooting from this sharp angle, and if Luke didn’t like him so much, he’d be jealous. Alright, he’s a little jealous anyway. But the friendly kind.   
  
“Let’s stay a while,” Michael says to him, after the coach calls the practice and everyone slowly begins to filter off the ice. “If you want. We can work on these. I’ll help you.”  
  
Luke accepts the offer, partly because he wants to get better, and partly because he wants to be alone with Michael.   
  
“You comin’?” Ashton asks him, skating by and then looking at Luke over his shoulder. His long hair goes so curly when he’s sweaty like he is now.  
  
“Michael and I are gonna stay for a bit,” Luke tells him.  
  
“Ok-ay,” Ashton answers, in a sing-song voice and with a big smile, and Luke’s chest feels funny because this isn’t the first time it seems like maybe Ashton might have figured something out.   
  
“Keep both eyes open,” Michael tells him, after they’re alone. He’s standing in between Luke and the net, blocking the view like it would be in a game. “And look at your target, like when you’re shooting from anywhere else. Don’t worry about the puck. Your stick knows where the puck is.”  
  
Luke nods. He takes a deep breath, trying to concentrate, and fires a foot wide. “Fuck.”  
  
“You’re putting too much pressure on yourself.”  
  
“Yeah, because I can’t fuckin’ do this,” Luke mutters. Michael laughs softly, and Luke frowns at him. “What?”  
  
“Nothing. You’re cute when you’re pouting.”  
  
“Shut up, I am not.” A teeny, tiny spot in the back of Luke’s mind does notice that Michael called him cute, even if he was teasing.  
  
“You’ve built this up in your mind.” Michael holds his hands out like he’s trying to calm a skittish horse. “You’re not getting it because you’ve already decided you can’t. It’s just you and me here, okay? Nobody’s gonna make fun of you. We’ve got all night. If you miss the next fifty times, who cares. Just keep trying until you don’t.”  
  
Luke swallows determinedly and sets himself back up.   
  
“Focus on the target, tune everything else out,” Michael continues. He bends his knees and rests the blade of his stick on the ice, mimicking the position of someone trying to block a shot.   
  
Luke tries. He narrows his eyes just a little so all he can see is the corner of the net, the spot he’s aiming for. He lets Michael’s body slip out of his focus so he’s just a blurry blue shape. He breathes again, lets himself relax into it, and flicks the puck off the end of his stick. It spins as it flies through the air, dings off the vertical post, and goes in.   
  
“Oh my God,” Luke says.  
  
“Again.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Do it again. We don’t want it to be a fluke, come on, a few more.”  
  
Luke listens to him, repeating the process but faster this time, sending another few pucks to the same corner. He shoots ten of them, and seven find their way into the mesh. He’s breathing hard by the time he runs out of pucks, and Michael spreads his arms out to the sides with a big smile on his face.  
  
“Luke Hemmings!” he yells, his voice reverberating in the cavernous, empty arena.   
  
Luke laughs. “Holy shit! I’ve never been able to do that!”  
  
“You just had the wrong teacher,” Michael jokes, skating over to him and holding both hands up for Luke to high-five.   
  
Luke looks down at him and doesn’t answer, or return the high-fives Michael offers. His heart speeds up, in a now-or-never kind of way. Slowly the smile slips off Michael’s face, and he looks confused – like he thinks he’s done something wrong. Luke hates it, wants the happiness back in Michael’s green eyes, so he goes for broke, grabbing the front of Michael’s practice jersey and pulling him in close enough to brush their lips together. Michael hesitates for just a moment and then responds. He pushes forward and Luke slides backwards easily on the blades of his skates; backing Luke up against the boards behind them so he can lean into it. It’s so much better than the first time, because Luke isn’t confused or surprised or freaked out. This time he wants it. This time, the way Michael’s lips slide against his lights mini fires under his skin.  
  
Michael breaks away with a gasp, and looks up at Luke with wide, darkened eyes. “Are you sure?”  
  
Luke nods. “Are you? Shit, I should’ve asked first, sorry. I know you said you’re not into me.”  
  
“I wasn’t, when I said that.”  
  
“What about now?”  
  
Michael’s gaze drops to Luke’s lips, and the way his cheeks are flushed and breathing is uneven tells Luke everything he needs to know. Even still Michael is hesitant; reaching out and slowly sliding the pad of his thumb along Luke’s lower lip. “It’s gonna get complicated. It has to. So you need to be sure.”  
  
“I am.” Luke kisses the tip of Michael’s thumb and then hooks his own fingers under Michael’s chin, making Michael look back at him. “Hey. I am. I don’t have it all figured out yet, what I … I just know what I feel when I look at you. I want this. It scares me, but I want it.”  
  
Michael kisses him again, softly and so poignantly Luke feels it to his toes.  
  
“Wanna get out of here?” Michael asks.  
  
Luke smiles at him. “Yeah.”  
  
*           *           *  
  
He’s been to Michael’s apartment plenty of times, but this time it feels different. There’s buzzing under his skin, excitement and nerves , over what might happen once they’re alone. Michael closes the door behind himself and looks at Luke, only for a minute before he’s pulling Luke in again and kissing him.   
  
“You wanna, um, do something?” Michael asks between kisses.  
  
Luke assumed they were going to, that it was the reason they came back here, but it’s still sweet that Michael asks. “Yeah.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Anything.” Luke pushes his fingers up under the back of Michael’s shirt. His skin is as soft as Luke thought it would be. It’s warm, too, and Luke gets a tiny thrill from touching it even this innocently.  
  
Michael takes Luke’s hand and leads him to his bedroom – which Luke just now realizes he’s never been in. He doesn’t see much of it this time anyway. Michael shuts the door behind them, flicks the lights off, and attacks Luke’s mouth. Luke gets his fingers in Michael’s hair and tugs on it, angling his head to deepen their kiss; Michael moans like maybe he likes being pushed around a little. Luke will have to remember that for next time, if he can get his head around the fact that there might  _be_  a next time, or even a  _this_  time. Michael slides his hands up under Luke’s shirt, fingers moving on Luke’s bare skin. The touch is mostly innocent but it still makes Luke shiver. He wants this so much, and he’s still scared to want it, a little, but not anywhere close to enough to consider stopping. Not when kissing Michael is this good, not when Michael’s hands feel like heaven on Luke’s hips.   
  
Michael pushes Luke’s shirt up, and they break apart to pull the material over Luke’s head. Michael is tugging his own shirt off when Luke can see him again, so he jumps the shark and rids himself of the rest of his clothes too, and then sits on the edge of the bed and waits for Michael. Luke’s hard already, and he touches himself idly, watching Michael reveal pale skin and soft edges. Luke hasn’t spent a lot of time thinking about male bodies – hasn’t allowed himself to, maybe – but he can’t look away from Michael’s. He wants to kiss every inch of it. Luke has never been attracted to tattoos before but the thick, black rings on Michael’s right arm are gorgeous against their ivory backdrop. Michael’s cock is half hard, jutting out from a nest of dark curls, and it makes Luke’s heart race and mouth water just looking at it. So he’s definitely something, then. Maybe not fully gay, but for sure not fully straight. Luke finds himself strangely alright with the revelation.  
  
Michael looks at him when he’s finished, and his lips part, eyes going wide again. “Holy shit,” he mutters, closing the distance between them and leaning down to kiss Luke again.  
  
“What?” Luke laughs, against Michael’s lips.   
  
“You’re beautiful.” Michael sounds so serious about it, and Luke believes he means it.   
  
“So are you.”  
  
Michael nudges him back; Luke moves backwards up the bed as Michael crawls on top of him and lies down, blanketing Luke’s body with his own. Michael’s skin is warm and soft and he surrounds Luke, his hips landing flush against Luke’s and the first skin-on-skin brush of their cocks has Luke gasping and arching instantly up for more. Michael slips his tongue into Luke’s mouth and kisses him so deeply Luke thinks he can feel it in his soul, while he rocks his hips. Luke can feel the head of Michael’s cock rubbing against his own, sandwiched in the warm space between their stomachs, and it’s heat and pressure and it’s way too good. Pleasure fires through Luke’s nerves, lighting him up.  
  
“What are we doing?” Luke asks, fingers still tangled in Michael’s soft hair. He can’t stop touching it.  
  
“This, for tonight.” Michael presses small kisses to Luke’s cheek, his jaw, his neck. “There’s so much more, I can’t wait to show you. When you’re ready.”  
  
“I want everything,” Luke confesses in a whisper. It feels dangers, admitting that, but at the same time he feels safe with Michael.   
  
“We have time,” Michael promises.   
  
There’s familiar stirring in his gut already, and Luke closes his eyes. He doesn’t want it to be over so soon, but Michael is warm and strong on top of him and his lips are soft on Luke’s neck and it all feels so good.   
  
“Michael,” Luke whispers.   
  
“It’s okay,” Michael says, before Luke can tell him. “Me too.”  
  
Michael slows right down, his hips move in purposeful, deliberate circles so their cocks slide between their abdomens, slicked with sweat and precome but still dry and hot and Luke bites his lip to keep a moan from spilling out. It’s too much and not enough at the same time.  
  
“C’mon,” Michael urges, a low, sexy murmur right in Luke’s ear. He licks the skin underneath it and then blows cool air on the wet spot, making Luke shiver. “Wanna know what you sound like. See if it’s anything like I imagined.”  
  
“You imagined?”  
  
“I fell for you weeks ago. Just never thought you’d want me back,” Michael admits. “Touched myself thinking about you just last night.”  
  
Luke’s eyes slam shut at the image. “Michael.”  
  
“Come for me,” Michael rasps. Luke can’t help it. It runs into him like a train, the warm swell of pleasure spreading through his body. A moan does escape this time, as he floods the space between them, makes it slippery.   
  
“Fuck,” he breathes, twitching through the aftershocks as Michael keeps moving. Michael nips at his neck and rolls his hips a few more times and then he’s coming too, tensing on top of Luke and grunting softly in his ear. The sounds he makes are so pretty Luke’s dick twitches in interest again, only seconds later. He lifts his heavy arms and wraps them around Michael’s back, holding onto him because he needs to feel anchored to something solid and real.  
  
Michael moves off him after a minute but Luke chases him and doesn’t let him get too far away. He pushes himself back into Michael’s arms, smiling in relief when Michael’s soft laugh sounds fond. Luke’s been told he’s too clingy. Luckily, Michael doesn’t seem to mind. He wraps his arms around Luke and tugs him in close. This was the part Luke was thinking might be weird. Every girl he’s been with was so much smaller than him, so there was room for her in Luke’s arms. But Michael’s nearly his size, Luke was worried it would be too many long limbs and broad chests. It works, though. They fit like puzzle pieces, and if Luke had any doubts left that this is what he wants, he doesn’t have them anymore.   
  
“Are you okay?” Michael asks him tentatively. “With … that?”  
  
Luke nods. He really is. He wasn’t sure if he would be, but he is. “That was awesome, dude.”  
  
Michael laughs. “Such a typical jock.”  
  
“So it was … I don’t know. Lovely. Beautiful, transcendent,” Luke jokes. “What do you want?”  
  
“Nothing. I like awesome.”  
  
Luke kisses his neck, and Michael nudges his face up to slide their lips together again. “So like … um. What are we, exactly?” Luke asks.  
  
“What do you want to be?”  
  
“Like … I don’t know, boyfriends? Is there different gay terminology?”  
  
Michael chuckles. “Not that I know of. So you wanna be my boyfriend?”  
  
Luke panics for a moment, worried his old friends were right when they told him he’d scare people away by getting serious so quickly. “Unless – do you not want that?”  
  
Michael shakes his head. “That’s exactly what I want. I really like you.”  
  
“Oh. Okay. Good.”  
  
“Good.” Michael gets that fond look on his face again and kisses Luke’s forehead.   
  
“This is really dorky, probably, but I like … this. Lying with you.”  
  
“Me too.” It sounds like Michael means it.  
  
“Are we gonna tell people?”  
  
There’s a long pause before Michael answers. “Would you want to?”  
  
“I don’t know. Maybe not, like, tomorrow. But some day, maybe.”  
  
“I just … it’s not that I don’t want to. I just don’t want you with cameras in your face all the time and people saying shitty things about you. It sucks,” Michael says frankly. “I don’t want it to happen to you. And it would, if people knew.”  
  
Luke frowns, but nods at the same time. “Wouldn’t it be better for you to go through it with someone, though?”  
  
“I’d rather keep you safe.”  
  
Luke doesn’t say it, but the thought makes him feel warm inside. He scootches up a little so he’s face to face with Michael. His eyes change color, Luke’s noticed. Right now they look almost grey. And his cheeks are still flushed and his normally red lips are even darker from overuse and he’s the most beautiful thing Luke’s ever seen. He reaches out in the small space between them and runs the pad of his thumb over Michael's bottom lip. Michael kisses it, mirroring what Luke did earlier on the ice.  
  
“You have really nice lips,” Luke tells him, because it’s cooler than all the other things he’d like to say about Michael’s appearance.   
  
“You’re thinkin’ about what they’d look like if I was blowing you, aren’t you?” Michael deadpans.  
  
“Well now I am.”  
  
Michael laughs. “Wanna find out?”  
  
“Now?”  
  
Michael gives him a look like he shouldn’t ask stupid questions. He tips forward and kisses Luke again, his hand sliding down between them and picking Luke’s cock up. Luke gasps a little at the touch, his flesh over-sensitive, and Michael curls his fingers around it and strokes only three or four times before it starts stiffening in Michael’s hand. “One of the few perks of being eighteen.”

Luke smiles as Michael rolls back on top of him.


	11. onze

Luke wakes up slowly, his body pulling itself into consciousness in slow-motion like he’s moving through quicksand. Just for a moment, he doesn’t recognize his surroundings. Then he feels the arm draped heavily across his stomach, and turns to find bright red hair two inches in front of his face, and remembers. Luke smiles. Michael is asleep next to him, snuggled up to Luke’s side, his face pushed into the pillow they’re sharing. Luke turns his nose into Michael’s hair and inhales, the warm, soft smell of sleepy skin filling his lungs and making him happy. He kisses the top of Michael’s head, and Luke wants to lie here forever but he can’t. It’s late already, and he needs to get back before Ashton wakes up or there will be questions Luke can’t answer if Michael doesn’t want anyone to know about them yet.  
  
He gets up, careful to extract himself from Michael’s arms unjarringly, wanting to let Michael sleep. Luke showers as quietly as he can, hoping Michael doesn’t mind if he borrows a towel and wishing he had clean clothes to change into.   
  
Michael’s eyes are open when Luke goes back into his room to say goodbye, but barely, like he just woke up. “Hey,” he says, voice scratchy from sleep.  
  
“Hey.” Luke goes to him and sits on the bed, reaching out and brushing the hair off Michael’s forehead. “Sorry, I didn’t want you to think I left without saying goodbye.”  
  
“I heard the shower,” Michael tells him. He closes his eyes again, sleepily, and turns his cheek into Luke’s hand.   
  
Luke smiles at him. He really, really wants to get back into bed. It’s warm and comfortable and Michael is soft and drowsy and he looks so inviting, like Luke could cuddle up with him and spend the entire day just existing here together.  
  
“Are you taking off?”  
  
Luke nods, then voices his answer when he realizes Michael can’t see a nod with his eyes closed. “Gotta get back before Ash is awake.”  
  
“Oh. Right.” Michael seems to understand; after all, it’s him who wants to keep this a secret. His eyes open again, green irises looking up at Luke with just the ghost of a frown crinkling his forehead. “You … do you regret it? What we did?”  
  
He sounds so insecure, it nearly breaks Luke’s heart. Someone  _did_  regret it after, once. Luke hears that loud and clear even though Michael doesn’t say it.  
  
“No.” Luke leans down and kisses Michael’s forehead, lets his lips linger there. “Not at all. I loved it.”  
  
“Okay. Good. Me too.” Michael reaches up, wraps his arms around Luke’s back and pulls him down. Luke settles half on top of him, pressing a kiss to Michael’s neck and staying for just a moment longer.   
  
“I gotta go,” he says, reluctantly. “I’ll be back, though. I promise. You’re not gettin’ rid of me now.”  
  
“Don’t want to get rid of you.”  
  
“You couldn’t, anyway.” Luke sits up, brushing Michael’s lips with his own in one last kiss, and then leaves before he can talk himself out of it.  
  
He gets a text from Michael just as he’s exiting the building. It says  _miss you already_ , followed by the little blushing face emoji.  
  
_Me too_ , Luke sends back.   
  
He unlocks the door to his own places as quietly as he can, and tip-toes into the dark apartment. It’s quiet in here, so if Luke can just get to his bedroom he’s home free. He can throw on a pair of sweats and pretend to have been here all night. Luke’s never been lucky like that, though. He hasn’t taken three steps into his place before the lights flicker on and Ashton comes stomping out of his own bedroom with wide eyes and a crazed look on his face and his phone in one hand.  
  
“Where the hell have you been?” he demands.   
  
“I … I was just …” Luke stutters. It feels like getting caught by his mother.   
  
“You stay late after practice and then you just don’t come home? And don’t call or text or anything?” Ashton gestures around the room wildly. “Dude. What the hell? At first I just thought you and Clifford when out for a beer or something since apparently you’re best friends now, and then I woke up to piss at like five this morning and you still weren't back! I was about to call the police!”  
  
“Ash, I’m  _fine_ ,” Luke insists. “I’m sorry, you’re right, I should’ve let you know where I was. I didn’t think.”  
  
“So?”  
  
“So what?”  
  
“So where  _were_  you? I sent you like fifteen texts!”  
  
“Just … out. Sorry, my phone must’ve died. ” Luke really hopes Ashton isn’t going to make him say. He spent absolutely no time thinking up a realistic sounding excuse in case Ashton did catch him. He should know better, though.  
  
Ashton raises his eyebrows. “ _Out_? You’re gonna have to do better than that.”  
  
“You’re not my mother,” Luke points out, slightly resenting the grief Ashton’s giving him but also knowing he mostly deserves it.  
  
“I’m your  _roommate_!” Ashton cries. “If something happens to you and I – ”  
  
“Okay, okay,” Luke interrupts, holding up his hands. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.”  
  
Ashton raises his eyebrows again, silently repeating his earlier question, despite Luke’s multiple attempts to get out of answering it.  
  
“I was with Michael,” Luke tells him reluctantly, finally accepting defeat. “At his place. We hung out and then we fell asleep. No big deal.”  
  
The way Ashton looks at him is way, way too knowing all of a sudden. He narrows his eyes and stares, like he’s looking  _through_  Luke. It makes Luke squirm uncomfortably, because Ashton knows. He can tell, as much as Luke tried not to make it obvious.  
  
“Holy shit,” Ashton breathes. “You slept with him.”  
  
“No I didn’t!” Luke protests, but his voice cracks and doesn’t come out anything close to convincing.   
  
Ashton laughs loudly. “Oh my God.”  
  
Luke blushes, his cheeks burning with it, and stares down at the ground so he doesn’t have to meet Ashton’s smug gaze.   
  
“Oh my  _God_!” Ashton repeats, only this time with a big smile on his face that carves dimples into his cheeks. His eyes are lit up like someone just told him Santa Claus is actually real. “I  _knew_ it. I knew it! I knew you liked him. The way you two were around each other the last month was  _so_ … Holy  _fuck_.”  
  
“Shut up,” Luke mumbles. “Can I go now, or am I grounded?”  
  
Ashton laughs again. He walks over to Luke and takes Luke’s face in his hands, squishing his cheeks. “So damn cute when he’s embarrassed.”  
  
“Fuck off,” Luke mutters, shoving Ashton lightly away, but then he laughs too, in spite of himself. “Guess I should’ve realized it’d be impossible to keep this from you.”  
  
“Dude.” Ashton smacks him gently in the center of his chest. “Why would you  _want_  to keep it from me? I thought we were friends, man, why didn’t you tell me you were gay? You know I don’t care.”  
  
“I … I’m not. I mean … I don’t know," Luke answers, honestly. He’s still not comfortable talking about this, even with Ashton. Maybe because he hasn’t found a label he feels comfortable in. “Haven’t figured it all out yet.”  
  
“Okay. That’s … I mean, you don’t have to,” Ashton tells him. “Least of all for my sake. Be whatever you want, it doesn't matter.”  
  
Luke nods. He flushes again, but manages to sound sincere when he says, “Thanks. Don’t tell anyone, okay?”  
  
“You know I won’t." Ashton hugs him, and Luke hugs back. Then Ashton ruffles his hair and disappears off in the direction of the kitchen, laughing to himself, and Luke makes a snap decision out of nowhere. He was sneaking back here to hide from Ashton, but if Ashton already knows, there’s no point.   
  
“I’m going back!” Luke calls over his shoulder on his way out the door, not sticking around for the response.   
  
An older lady Luke recognizes from all the time he’s spent in Michael’s building over the last few weeks lets Luke in, so he doesn’t need to have Michael buzz him up. Luke lets himself quietly into Michael’s place, slipping out of his shoes and, and then his jeans too, as he walks towards Michael’s bedroom. Michael is asleep again, so Luke crawls into the bed behind him, curling up with Michael, pressed against his back.   
  
“Hey,” Michael says groggily, feeling Luke there after a minute. “Change your mind?”  
  
“Ash knows,” Luke tells him. “Figured it out pretty much the second I walked in the door.”  
  
Michael chuckles and doesn’t seem surprised. “He would.”  
  
“No point in staying there to hide something from him if he already knows it.” Luke nuzzles into the hair at the nape of Michael’s neck. He smells like sleep and clean, warm skin. “So I came back.”  
  
Michael threads his fingers through Luke’s and pulls Luke’s arm across his chest. Luke moves in just a little closer, adhering himself to Michael’s warm, sleepy body. “Good. I really like you here.”  
  
“Me too,” Luke whispers.   
  
*           *           *  
  
The following Saturday morning they fly into New York. They’re playing the Rangers, but not until tomorrow afternoon, so they have nearly a full day with nothing to do but play tourist. Luke’s been to Rochester and Buffalo but never Manhattan. Ashton and Calum want to sight-see – they’ve both been here for games in previous years but never had actual time off here before to see what there is to see. Ashton rallies a group together like only Ashton can – Carey and Max and P.K. and Brendan – and Luke doesn’t even have to drag Michael along this time. Michael wants to go, and the others seem pleased to have him, and Luke is just content all over.   
  
They tour the greatest hits; the Empire State Building and Central Park and the Statue of Liberty, and it’s a day full of laughing and joking and being together. Turning their hockey-brains off for a day, so they’re refreshed for tomorrow. The Rangers are in the middle of a hot-streak right now, and they’re going to have to step up their game tomorrow if they have even a hope of getting anything past King Henrik.   
  
They get stopped every now and then for pictures and autographs – they aren’t  _that_  famous, but they’re well-known enough that it happens more than a few times throughout the day – and no one says anything outright rude to Michael but he gets a couple looks. Luke wants to punch those people in the mouth, but Michael doesn’t react at all, and Luke is proud of him. Michael’s like a different person this last month. Completely gone is the moody, aggressive guy with the chip on his shoulder. Luke likes to think maybe he had a little something to do with that, but mostly it just makes him happy to know Michael is happy.   
  
They’re rooming together, because Ashton jokingly announced that he was sick of Luke when pairs were being assigned. Luke was slightly annoyed at the time, not because he didn’t want to be with Michael but because he was worried Ashton was too obvious about it, but no one else seemed to notice a thing so Luke changed his tune pretty quickly. Calum and Ashton invade their room once they’re all back at the hotel, and they decide to order an enormous pizza and watch the Sharks get their asses handed to them by the Blackhawks. Ashton drags Calum back to their room relatively early, and Calum doesn’t look all that confused by it, so Luke thinks he probably knows exactly what’s going on. The thought makes him uncomfortable and comfortable at the same time. It’s a confusing sensation.   
  
“There’s, um. Pizza sauce on your face,” Michael tells him, once the door swings closed behind Ashton’s retreating form.   
  
“Oh.” Luke blushes and wipes at his mouth. “Did I get it?”  
  
“No, it …” Michael smiles and leans over, brushing Luke’s bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, and then licking the bit of tomato sauce off. “There.”  
  
“Thanks.” Luke looks at him, chewing on his bottom lip. He’s anxious, suddenly, now that they’re alone. He isn’t quite sure why.   
  
“What do you wanna do now?” Michael asks.   
  
“Do you play?” Luke points in the direction of the guitar case in the corner. Luke isn’t sure why Michael bothered to bring it with him. Maybe Michael always brings his guitar with him, and Luke just never noticed.   
  
Michael shrugs. “A little. I’m trying to get better.”  
  
Luke goes to it. He unhooks the latches and picks up the acoustic guitar up, then walks back and hands it to Michael. “Play me something? I mean, if you want. Or not, if you don't.”  
  
Michael takes it. He looks unsure, and sounds nervous, but he sits on the couch across from the TV, lays the instrument across his knees and starts strumming. He sings  _Wake Me Up When September Ends_  by Green Day. Luke sits next to him and watches, trying to look at Michael’s hands instead of his face so he doesn’t make Michael more self-conscious. His fingers move fluidly over the strings; it’s mesmerizing. Luke isn’t sure what he was expecting, but Michael’s voice is gentle and velvety soft and beautiful. It slides over Luke’s body like silk, and he only gets halfway through the song before losing the will to hold back. He takes the guitar from Michael’s hands, ignoring Michael’s questioning frown, and places it on the coffee table. Then he climbs onto Michael’s lap, one knee on either side of Michael’s hips, and kisses him. Michael kisses back instantly, pushing his fingers under Luke’s shirt to cup his hips.   
  
“If I’d known bad singing revved your engine I would have done it a long time ago,” Michael says, the smile on his face apparent in the happy tone of his voice.  
  
“It’s you,” Luke murmurs. “Everything about you.”  
  
He finds it hard to think properly as they trade breathless kisses. His heart races and the air around them feels hot and sticky and heavily laden with the gravity of the moment. Michael moves his hand slowly up Luke’s chest, Luke’s t-shirt bunching over Michael’s wrist, and then down, fingers playing along the waistband of Luke’s jeans before slipping lower and rubbing the heel of his palm up Luke’s quickly filling erection. Pleasure pinballs through Luke and he whimpers into Michael’s mouth and involuntarily pushes his hips forward into Michael’s hand, his body chasing after more.   
  
Michael moans softly. “Fuck. You’re so hot like this, I can’t …”  
  
“Yeah,” Luke answers shakily – it isn’t an appropriate response, but it’s all his lust-soaked brain can come up with.   
  
“I like you in skinny jeans,” Michael says, for the millionth time since Luke started wearing them. He drags his fingers maddeningly lightly up Luke’s thighs, his skin prickling with Michael’s touch through the tight denim. The he touches Luke’s dick again, where it’s obscenely showing through the unforgiving fabric. “Easier to tell when you’re hard.”  
  
“Shut up,” Luke mumbles, blushing for the second time tonight. He’s not good at this yet – at just talking about these things, as brashly and unembarrassed as Michael does. He’s jealous of Michael’s confidence.  
  
“It’s so sexy,” Michael promises, picking up on Luke’s need for reassurance.  
  
Luke nods and kisses Michael again. Michael’s fingers work along his length, exploring, and then he pops the fly on Luke’s jeans and slips his hand inside to touch Luke’s bare flesh. Luke gasps into Michael’s mouth and his hips buck forward again.  
  
“Are you okay?” Michael asks quietly. He can tell, even through layers of arousal, that Luke is nervous.  
  
Luke nods, but Michael doesn’t buy it.   
  
“Talk to me,” he says gently. He removes his hand from Luke’s pants, like he’s suddenly worried Luke doesn’t want it there.  
  
“It just feels … bigger. I don’t know.”  
  
“We did it once already,” Michael reminds him; gentle and empathetic, not mocking. He blinks up at Luke, the need to understand shining in his green eyes.  
  
“I know. That’s why, though.” Luke tips forward to rest his face against Michael’s so he can close his eyes. “‘Cause doing something like this once, it can be a mistake. If you need it to be. Twice is more permanent. This time we can’t take it back.”  
  
“Do you want to take it back?”  
  
“No,” Luke whispers.   
  
“Me neither.”  
  
“You can keep touching,” Luke tells him softly.  
  
“Thought maybe you wanted me to stop.”  
  
Luke shakes his head. “I don’t.”  
  
Michael puts his hand back, curling his fingers around Luke’s hard cock and pulling it out so he can stroke it properly. Luke feels heat creep down his chest, arousal and embarrassment. He’s never been exposed like this – just on display between them with the lights on and everything. Last time it was dark, and his body was hidden under Michael’s.  
  
“There isn’t one inch of you,” Michael kisses Luke’s lips between his words, “that isn’t perfect.”  
  
Luke nods and relaxes, because he believes Michael means it. His hand feels good, warm and talented against Luke’s stiff, aching flesh.  
  
“What does this mean?” Luke asks, brushing his fingertips along the inside of Michael’s soft, pale arm, where  _To The Moon_ is scrawled in fancy ink. He’s wondered, since the day they met, but never felt it was appropriate to ask.  
  
“Something my mom used to say,” Michael answers. “That she loved me to the moon and back.”  
  
“Oh.” Luke bites his lip. “Sorry.”  
  
“Don’t be.” Michael shakes his head. “I want you to know.” He wraps his arms around Luke’s waist and moves them, shifts so Luke’s on his back on the couch and Michael is on top of him. Luke hooks his legs over the backs of Michael’s, hugging around his shoulders while they kiss so Michael can’t get away, can’t leave. Luke needs him close right now – thinks maybe they both need it.  
  
Michael kisses him, deep and slow and life-changing, and doesn’t go anywhere.   
  
*           *           *  
  
They don’t beat the Rangers. They’re just too big, too fast, and Luke’s team can’t get ahead of them. It’s close in the end, though. And Michael scores. Luke’s on the ice when it happens and it’s a  _beautiful_  goal, a hard wrister, perfectly placed and buried right in the top stick-side corner. Michael’s accuracy is enviable – when he gets a lane to the net he almost always hits it right on target. The point total he racked up last year is what won him Rookie of the Year. The whole line converges around him after, five pairs of arms wrapped around each other in celebration, and Luke maybe holds on to Michael for just a second or two longer than he should.  
  
They sit together, on the flight home later, just talking because it isn’t like they can make out on a plane, but Luke loves talking to Michael almost as much as anything else, and he smiles so much during the short flight that his cheeks ache. Michael gets up to use the restroom at one point, and Luke watches him go, not aware of the expression on his own face until he catches Brendan’s eye – where he’s seated a few rows ahead – and then can only imagine what he must look like based on Brendan’s corresponding confused frown. Brendan turns his head to look after Michael, and then glances back at Luke with a gleam in his pale blue eyes like maybe he just managed to work something out, and Luke slouches in his seat and looks away. So that’s three-for-three, then, Luke thinks, if he’s also right in his suspicion that Calum knows too. At the rate this is going, the whole damn team is going to Sherlock Holmes this secret out of them before they’ve spoken a single word, just because Luke is too giddy to find any semblance of cool about it.  
  
Really, though, he’s not sure he cares. He especially doesn’t care when Michael comes back, and pretends to be fishing something out of the seat pocket in front of him so he can covertly press a quick kiss to Luke’s shoulder.  
  
“Someone’s gonna see,” Luke says quietly, not actually meaning to say Michael shouldn’t have done it.  
  
Michael shrugs. “I’m very sneaky.”  
  
Luke grins at him.  
  
“Would Ash be unbearable about it if you came back to my place when we get home?”  
  
“Aren’t you exhausted?” Luke knows he is, because they all are. Luke would like more than anything to spend the rest of night with Michael, in bed with bare skin pressed against bare skin, but he’s more than certain he’s just going to pass out the minute his head hits a pillow.  
  
“Yeah.” Michael puts his hand on his own leg so he can subtly rub his thumb against Luke’s. “Just wanna sleep with you. Like, actually sleep.”  
  
“Oh.” Luke presses his lips together to hide another smile. Michael has that effect on him. “Okay.”  
  
It’s nearly midnight by the time they get back to Michael’s place, after a delay on the runway and waiting for their bags and driving back from the airport, and Luke can barely keep his eyes open. True to his word, Michael just locks up, steers an out-of-it Luke to his bedroom, nudges Luke down onto the mattress, and climbs in with him. He drags the blankets over them and wraps Luke up in his arms, and Luke drifts off to the feeling of Michael kissing his forehead, Michael’s body warm and solid against his own, the soft, even sound of Michael breathing lulling him to sleep. 


	12. douze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
>  Lovely people keep making me fan art and I keep crying. [X](http://dontmakemehurtu.tumblr.com/post/116048649965/i-drew-this-for-you-paper-storm-because-arcadia-is)

“Hey. Take a walk with me?”  
  
Luke looks up from his plate into Calum’s brown eyes. He’s grabbing something to eat in their break-room, in a few minutes they’re all due to meet and watch some footage from yesterday before the practice starts. Michael and Ashton were both here a moment ago, but they left together, off to the equipment room to get their skates sharpened. Luke wonders if Calum was waiting to get him alone. “Uh. Okay. Where are we going?”  
  
Calum doesn’t answer. He just nods his head in the direction of the door. Luke follows him. Michael catches his eye as they pass in the hallway, and Luke shrugs in response to his questioning gaze.  
  
Calum leads him a ways down the long hall and around a corner so they’re alone, next to the warm-up bikes lined up against the wall.  
  
“Did I do something wrong?” Luke asks warily. He likes Calum a lot but he’s still a little intimidated by him.  
  
“What? No. Sorry, I guess this is creepy.”  
  
“A little.”  
  
“I just wanted to …” Calum scratches the back of his neck. “I know. About you and Mikey.”  
  
“Oh.” Luke presses his lips together and tries to ignore the uncomfortable feeling in his chest. He’d suspected as much, but he didn’t know for sure. And still, thinking Calum knows is a lot different than actually talking about it. The only person Luke’s really comfortable discussing this with other than Michael himself is Ashton, and even then Luke still isn’t quite at ease. There’s still the stigma, the expectation of judgment, the feeling that Luke’s done something wrong. That he’s letting people down, for not ending up with a pretty girl like his brothers did. Luke always wanted to be just like them, and now he isn’t. He’s trying really hard to rid himself of those feelings, but over ten years of hockey culture – soaked in no-homo and the thirst to out-do each other in hetero sexual conquests – isn’t easy to overcome.  
  
“Yeah. So. We gotta do this.” Calum looks apologetic. “It’s sorta my job.”  
  
“What is?”  
  
“The whole ‘if you hurt him’ thing.”  
  
Luke wasn’t expecting that. “I wouldn’t – ”  
  
“I like you,” Calum interrupts. “I really do. We’re friends too, right?”  
  
“I hope so.”  
  
“Just for the next few minutes, though, we’re not. I’m Michael’s best friend and you’re his new boyfriend. Michael and me …”  
  
“I know. Since you were kids. And he lived with your family.”  
  
“He told you?”  
  
“Yeah. He said you guys saved him.” Luke’s been wanting to thank Calum for that, he just hasn’t found the right words to do it, or the right time.  
  
“So you know I gotta say this, then. He deserves the best. I hope he gets it from you. He’s been through a ton, with his parents and with the media shit and everything, he doesn’t need anything else.”  
  
“I like him,” Luke says honestly, trying to be brave about it and trying not to blush. He half manages one of them. “Okay? I more than like him. I’m not gonna hurt him.”  
  
“Good.” Calum looks serious, and also like he’s half daring Luke  _to_  hurt Michael and see what happens. Luke’s seen what happens to people who take those dares. It’s too much, sometimes, on the ice. He has his team’s back, but his temper gets them in trouble sometimes. But he’s a good friend. Luke is happy Michael has him. “Okay. That’s out of the way. We’re bros again.” He tosses a casual arm around Luke’s shoulders. “C’mon.”  
  
“Did he tell you?” Luke asks as they walk back.   
  
Calum smiles a little. “Yes, but he didn’t need to. I could tell.”  
  
“You guys are really tight, huh?”  
  
“Well that. And also he’s not subtle. You should have heard him when he was at my parents’ on Christmas. That’s why I figured you were the one who told him to get over himself and come to my house. He kept saying he’d changed his mind on his own, but then he wouldn’t shut up about you. It was all Luke this and Luke that, and oh he said something so funny last week, blah blah blah.”  
  
“Oh.” Luke doesn’t bother hiding the smile Calum’s words put on his face. It wouldn’t be worth the effort anyway.   
  
“It was a bit annoying, really,” Calum teases. “After he went to sleep Mali and I were like holy shit, he’s in deep this time. But. We’re happy to see him happy. He deserves it.”  
  
Luke nods, and finds the guts to promise, “I’ll take good care of him.”  
  
“Good. He’ll do the same with you, you know. Once Michael decides he cares about someone, he’ll kill and die for you.”  
  
Luke believes that’s true.  
  
When the practice ends, hours later, Michael manages to pull Luke into the bathroom without anyone noticing – although, if Luke were putting money on it, he’d bet Ashton noticed. Ashton notices everything. Michael pushes him into a stall and backs him up against the door and kisses him, and it’s so dangerous because anyone could walk in at any given second. It sends shivers down Luke’s spine. They’re both dripping in sweat from hours of drills the coach had them running, and there’s drops of dye on Michael’s face because he uses the cheap kind that runs sometimes, and his hands are everywhere, pushing under Luke’s skin-tight undershirt, moving over his damp skin.  
  
“What did Cal want?” Michael asks, between bruising kisses.  
  
“To tell me if I hurt you he’d end my life,” Luke answers. He tugs at Michael’s hair and moans when Michael sucks on his neck.  
  
“What a dick.”  
  
“He cares about you.”  
  
“He’s still a dick.”  
  
Luke laughs. “If that’s another word for  _really good friend_.”  
  
“Ash didn’t give me the speech about hurting you.”  
  
“Does he need to?”  
  
Michael slows down for a moment, to kiss Luke’s lips gently and whisper, “No.” Then he slides his hands into Luke’s shorts and curls his fingers around Luke’s hardening cock.  
  
“We’re gonna get caught,” Luke warns, his shaking voice betraying the significance of his words. Michael’s hand feels too good.  
  
“That’s what makes it fun.” Michael winks at him and then sinks to his knees, tugging Luke’s shorts down with him.  
  
Luke’s head falls back against the metal door with a loud thunk at the first touch of Michael’s tongue to his flesh. All thoughts of protest fly out of his mind as Michael wraps his lips around Luke’s cock. He tangles his fingers in Michael’s messy hair and enjoys it, and doesn’t give a single fuck if anyone walks in and cracks their secret wide open.  
  
*           *           *  
  
They’re on the road for nearly a week, playing the Coyotes in Phoenix and then all three teams in California. Luke is so happy to be away from the cold, even if it’s only for a few days and they don’t get a chance to actually go to the beach. It’s nice to be in sunshine and warm, humid air and not have to mummify himself every time he goes outside just to stay alive. He’s wiped by the time they get back to Montreal, early in the morning on a Tuesday, and falls asleep fully clothed on the couch. When he wakes up there’s a blanket draped over his body – Ashton is taking this whole acting like Luke’s mother thing a little too seriously but Luke still appreciates it – and the apartment is empty.  
  
Luke’s phone buzzes in his pocket – it’s a text from Brendan that says  _can i come over?_  
  
_Yes_ , Luke answers, and there’s a knock on the door a few minutes later.  
  
“Hey,” Luke says as he opens it.   
  
“Sublime?” Brendan asks with a raised eyebrow as he enters, nodding at Luke’s t-shirt. “You look like Michael all the time now.”  
  
Luke shrugs. “They’re good.”  
  
Brendan nods and takes a few steps into the kitchen, just sort of hovering, like there’s something he wants to say but doesn’t know how to start. Luke has a pretty good idea what it might be. He scored during the game against L.A., and Michael squeezed his leg on the bench afterwards, and Luke’s pretty sure Brendan saw.  
  
“You’re being weird,” he says, wanting to cut to the chase because he isn’t looking forward to the conversation he thinks is about to happen, so better to get it over with.  
  
“Is Irwie here?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Brendan looks back at Luke, squinting like he’s uncomfortable.   
  
Luke just bites the bullet, and says, “Okay. Yes. We are.”  
  
Brendan’s eyebrows furrow in question.  
  
“Me and Michael,” Luke elaborates. “I know you know.”  
  
“Oh. Fuck.” Brendan laughs a little and sounds relieved. “Dude, I had no idea how to ask that. ‘Cause if you weren’t, I didn’t want you to freak out.”  
  
“Yeah.” Luke isn’t sure what else to say. The familiar prickly feeling creeps back into his gut.  
  
“I really didn’t know how to bring this up without coming off like a jerk. Not something I have a ton of experience with.”  
  
“I don't either,” Luke says honestly. “Michael’s the first guy I’ve ever met who’s … I mean. You know how it is. With hockey. It’s not that common.”  
  
“So, are you?” Brendan asks. “Gay?”  
  
Luke presses his lips together and considers the question. “Bi, maybe? I’m not really sure. Is … is it gonna be weird now? With us?”  
  
Brendan shakes his head. “No, man. It’s fine. I mean, it’s … you know.”  
  
“I know.” Luke cringes. “It’s weird, I … I don’t want it to change anything. But I get it, if it does.”  
  
“It shouldn’t, though.” Brendan doesn’t sound like he completely believes that, but he sounds like he  _wants_  to, like he’s trying to believe it. That alone means everything to Luke. “I have to, like, adjust my perception of you a bit, but at the end of the day who cares, really. As long as you’re not fucking on the ice during a game I don’t care what you do anywhere else. You’re my bro, and you’re a teammate and shit, and so is he. If you make each other happy or whatever then no one should get to have an opinion about it.”  
  
Luke nods. He licks his lips nervously but really, really appreciates everything Brendan said. It’s been his biggest fear in this whole thing – worrying what people would think. Being part of this team is the best thing that’s ever happened to Luke, he was terrified that being with Michael would change everything. That he’d lose the dynamic he has with the other guys that he loves so much.   
  
Brendan leans back against the kitchen counter and crosses his arms over his chest. “How long? Have you …”  
  
“Not long. A month, maybe. You figured it out on the flight back from New York, right? We’re not hiding it very well, I guess.”  
  
“I had suspicions before that.” Brendan shrugs. “I don’t think most of the guys can tell. I just pieced it together. ‘Cause the two of you hated each other, and then suddenly you didn’t. And he was such an ass before you got here, and now he’s just nice and shit out of nowhere.”  
  
“He was an ass because he thought you guys hated him for being gay,” Luke points out, needing to defend Michael even though Brendan isn’t really insulting him. He’s just stating facts.  
  
“I know.” Brendan looks truly sorry about it. “Last year shouldn’t have gone down like it did. It’s not like anybody actually minded that he wasn’t straight. Nobody was, like, thinking he was gonna look at us or try to turn us or something stupid like that. It’s just something most of us had never dealt with before. We screwed it up, though.”  
  
“You made up for it,” Luke tells him.   
  
“Yeah?” Brendan looks hopeful.   
  
“He just wanted to feel like he was part of the team. Now he does.”  
  
“That’s good. He’s so fuckin good, man. He carried us through the playoffs last year, him and Pricer. I bet no one’s ever told him that.”  
  
“You could,” Luke suggests. “It would mean a lot to him.”  
  
“Yeah. Maybe I will.”  
  
“Want a beer?” Luke crosses in front of Brendan to get to the fridge. The best way to handle all this, he figures, is to just be the first to act like everything is the same and hope everyone else follows along.   
  
“Sure.”  
  
Luke pulls two cold bottles from the top shelf and hands one to Brendan. He smiles a little at his guest and then makes his way to the couch. Brendan trails along after him like Luke was hoping he would. Luke puts on TSN and they watch a rebroadcast of last night’s Sports Centre in silence for a while.  
  
“Fuck the Pens,” Brendan says eventually, as a highlight reel of Fleury’s brilliant saves from the previous evening plays on the screen.  
  
Luke hums in agreement. They’re stuck right alongside the team from Pittsburgh in the points race. Finishing the season ahead of them would be better than Luke ever hoped for. They haven’t met this year for a game but they will in a few weeks, and Luke will start hyperventilating if he puts too much thought into the fact that he’ll be sharing the ice with Sidney Crosby.  
  
“Can I ask you some questions? Would that be weird?” Brendan picks at the label on his bottle. “I wanna understand this better.”  
  
Luke nods. The fact that Brendan isn’t fully at ease either actually makes this easier. “Yeah. Go ahead.”  
  
“Did you always know? That you were …”  
  
“No. There were a few times when I was younger that I wondered. I always shoved it down, though. You know how it is. We’re grown up now and it’s still awkward. If a bunch of 14 year olds thought a kid in the dressing room was into guys? They would’ve tortured me.”  
  
“Like what happened to Clifford. We’ve all heard the stories.”  
  
“Yeah.” Luke stares down at his hands, wishing for the hundredth time he could turn the clock back and protect Michael from that.  
  
“So what happened with him?”  
  
“Details?” Luke teases, hoping to break the tension a little.   
  
It works, and Brendan laughs. “Please God, no.”  
  
Luke laughs too. “I don’t know. Honestly it was the same as falling for a girl. I wouldn’t have thought it would be, if someone had asked me before it happened. But it was. You just spend time with someone and you like their eyes and they make you laugh and you just …”  
  
“Is he a little spoon?” Brendan asks, eyes sparkling mischievously.   
  
“Sometimes,” Luke answers with a smile.   
  
“Is that part of it weird? Like that he’s a guy and you’re used to boobs and stuff?”  
  
“At first it was. You get used to it pretty quick.”  
  
“How is he at sucking a dick?”  
  
“Dude!” Luke balks and shoves him, and Brendan cackles.   
  
“Sorry. Thought I could slip that one in.”   
  
The door opens and they both turn; Ashton and Michael walk in, heavily laden with bags of what looks like new equipment.   
  
“Hey,” Luke says. “Where were you?”  
  
“Your boyfriend made me buy a bunch of new pads and shit.” Ashton dumps his bags on the ground, and when he straightens up and notices Brendan, the color drains from his face. “Oh fuck. _Fuck_ , I’m sorry, I didn’t – ”  
  
“Ash, he knows,” Luke cuts in quickly.   
  
“Shit.” Ashton exhales and rubs his hands over his face. “I gotta learn to do a scan of the room before I open my big mouth.”  
  
“It’s okay,” Luke assures.   
  
Ashton tosses him another apologetic glance anyway. Michael is rigid and eyeing Brendan warily, like he’s half expecting to suddenly be gay-bashed right here in the living room.   
  
“‘Nother round?” Brendan asks. He picks the empty bottles up in his hands and goes off toward the kitchen, patting Michael casually on the shoulder as he does.   
  
It’s subtle, but it’s enough. He’s saying nothing is going to be different without actually saying it, and Michael visibly relaxes. He walks toward Luke and sits beside him.   
  
“He knows now too?” Michael asks, nodding after Brendan.   
  
“He guessed. Sorry.”  
  
Michaels shakes his head. “Don’t be, it isn’t your fault.”  
  
“Guess I just like you too much. It shows through.” Luke is teasing, but he also means it.   
  
Michael looks at him and smiles softly, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Luke’s lips.   
  
Brendan comes back with four brown bottles clutched between his two hands, and Ashton follows him.   
  
“Dicks away, boys, we’re coming back.”  
  
“We have never  _once_  had our dicks out in front of you,” Luke points out.  
  
Ashton giggles and plops himself down on the couch next to Michael. “You can never be too careful.”  
  
Brendan dolls out the beer bottles and sits on the other side of Ashton. And it is the same, after. They just talk and joke and give each other a hard time like nothing has changed. An enormous weight just got lifted off Luke’s shoulders.   
  
*           *           *  
  
“Everybody go home, rest up for tomorrow,” Coach Therrien announces to the crowd in the locker room. “At the airport no later than six.”  
  
“Good work today, boys!” Ashton calls, to the room as a whole, but he winks in Luke’s direction.   
  
Luke smiles at him.   
  
“You comin’ over later?” Michael’s voice asks from behind Luke, quietly enough that no one else will have heard it.   
  
“Yeah,” Luke answers, just as softly, not looking at Michael so he doesn’t give it away. “I’ll just drop my gear off first.”  
  
“Good.” Michael leans over, making it look like he’s grabbing something from a hook next to Luke’s shoulder, so he can whisper right in his ear. “Been wantin’ to suck your dick all day.”  
  
It hits Luke like a wave, warm and tingly in his gut, and he barely stifles the embarrassing, high-pitched noise that tries to leave his throat. “Fuck, Michael,” he whispers back.  
  
“Or that,” Michael teases, accidentally brushing the back of Luke’s neck with his fingers in a way that Luke suspects wasn’t quite so accidental.   
  
The ride home feels like it takes hours even though it’s only fifteen minutes. Luke shifts in his seat, trying to get comfortable, and squeezes handfuls of his jeans for something to do with his fingers.   
  
“What’s wrong with you?” Ashton asks, raising an eyebrow curiously.  
  
“Nothing,” Luke lies.   
  
“So stop fidgeting.”  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
Ashton reaches over and pokes him. “Seriously, what's up? Do you have lice or something? Because if you do, you’re sleeping on the street.”  
  
Luke shakes his head, and then squirms for a different reason. He still isn’t any good at talking about this, sometimes, even with Ashton. “I, uh. I’m just goin’ to see Michael, later. I’m impatient.”  
  
“Ooh,” Ashton jokes. “Date night.”  
  
Luke blushes. “Shut up.”  
  
“Seriously, though. You know I’m psyched for you guys, right?”  
  
“Yeah. I know. Thanks.” Luke smiles to himself. “You haven’t told anyone else, right?”  
  
Ashton frowns. “I told you I wouldn’t.”  
  
“Thanks,” Luke repeats.  
  
“You should think about tellin’ people sooner or later, though. Other than our group. The guys are gonna start wondering why Michael’s nice now,” Ashton cautions.  
  
“He doesn’t want to.”  
  
Ashton frowns again. “Well, that’s not cool.”  
  
“No, I – ” Luke shakes his head. “Not for the reason you’re thinking. He’s protecting me, he doesn’t want me to have to go through what he did. What he’s still going through.”  
  
“Oh.” Ashton considers it for a moment and then rolls his eyes. “Dammit, that’s really sweet. I always knew he was just a big softie underneath.”  
  
“Yeah.” Luke presses his lips together in an unsuccessful attempt to hold back a smile. “He is.”  
  
“And amazing in bed?” Ashton asks.  
  
Luke smiles even more as he reaches over and smacks Ashton’s upper arm. “There is no way in hell I’m telling you that.”  
  
Ashton laughs. “Fine. It was worth a shot.”  
  
He turns the car onto their street, but stops in front of Michael’s building instead of carrying on the few blocks to theirs.   
  
Luke looks at him, and Ashton nods his head in the direction of the door. “Go on.”  
  
“My – ”  
  
“I’ll take your stuff in. Go. Have fun.”  
  
Luke grins at him, and doesn’t need telling twice. He hops out of the car, turning back only briefly to flip Ashton off after the older boy yells, “Use protection!” through the open window.   
  
Michael pulls the door open half a second after Luke knocks like he was just standing on the other side of it waiting for Luke to arrive. He yanks Luke inside, slams the door behind him, and then shoves him up against it and kisses him hard. Luke wraps his arms around Michael’s neck, holding on as Michael presses into him, lips sliding over Luke’s, making Luke dizzy.   
  
“What took you so long?” he asks, the words slurred in between messy kisses.  
  
“How long have you been home?”  
  
“About thirty seconds.”  
  
Luke laughs. “You couldn't wait thirty seconds?”  
  
“Didn’t want to wait  _one_  second.” Michael kisses down Luke’s jaw, pushing his thigh up into Luke’s crotch and rubbing, making him shiver. “You were so good today. Your stick-handling is unreal, it’s like you’re not even trying. So fuckin’ sexy.”  
  
Luke hums, and jokes, “Stick-handling.”  
  
Michael laughs softly. “Shut up. That’s what it’s called.”  
  
“Maybe handling some other things is helping my technique.”  
  
“Good advice to give, next time some kid asks for tips.”  
  
Luke is about to respond that he probably shouldn’t go around telling kids to jerk their friends off in the hopes it will hone their hockey skills, but Michael sucks at a spot on his neck and pushes his hands up the front of Luke’s shirt, and Luke forgets what he was going to say.   
  
“You’re becoming a problem for me, you know,” Michael tells him. “The way you look out there. It’s too hot. Can’t have me getting’ hard on the bench from watchin’ you.”  
  
Luke grins and nudges Michael’s face back up to slide their lips together again. “Maybe we’ll have to start takin’ care of you before games. Get it out of your system.”  
  
“Can’t get you out of my system.” Michael kisses him slowly, the frantic pace slowing just for a second. “Wouldn’t want to.”  
  
“Me neither.”  
  
“C’mon.” Michael takes his hand and pulls him toward the bedroom, and Luke follows with a stupid, sappy smile on his face.   
  
He lies on Michael’s chest when it’s over, his head pillowed over Michael's heart so he can hear the low, even rhythm of it beating. Michael trails warm fingers absently up and down Luke’s spine. Luke likes this part almost better than the sex. When it’s just the two of them, bare skin under the sheets, quiet and comfortable and together.  
  
“We fly so early tomorrow,” Luke says. He still doesn’t like planes, although he is finally starting to get used to them.   
  
“Sit with me. You can squeeze my leg if there’s turbulence,” Michael responds, reading Luke’s mind.   
  
“Okay. Hey, we should hang out with like Ash and Cal and Brendan some time.”  
  
“We do, every day.”  
  
“No, I mean, like, just us. More often. So you and me could act like we’re together.”  
  
Michael is quiet for a moment, and then he asks, “Does it bother you? That we can’t?”  
  
“I know why we’re keeping it a secret. I just wish I could hold your hand sometimes, in front of someone else. Just so …”  
  
“I get it,” Michael assures him. “Me too, okay? So yeah, let’s do that. Annoy them with how cute we are.”  
  
Luke laughs. He stretches and then settles back into Michael, kissing the pale skin below his cheek.   
  
“Hey, um,” Michael begins, tentatively. “Are you … happy?”  
  
Luke smiles a little. “I just got head. Kinda hard to be sad.” He’s getting better at giving it, too, if the way Michael was moaning earlier is any indication.  
  
Michael laughs softly, and then continues, “No, I mean like … here. With me, with … this.”  
  
A frown tugs at Luke’s forehead. He lifts up so he can see Michael’s face – Michael looks hesitant and unsure and Luke doesn’t understand why but it makes his heart ache. He moves, propping himself up on his elbow so he can look down at Michael; tenderly brushing his hair off his forehead.  
  
“Of course I am. Why?”  
  
“I just … want you to be. Happy.” Michaels shrugs one shoulder half-heartedly. “‘Cause I am. I really …” He gestures helplessly with one hand and then trails off, dropping his head toward Luke’s body on the pillow and looking annoyed with himself for being unable to get the words out.   
  
Luke leans down and kisses his cheekbone. “Me too.”  
  
“I love you,” Michael whispers, so softly for a moment Luke isn’t convinced he really heard it. But then Michael doesn’t take it back – he reaches out and drums his fingers lightly over Luke’s heart.   
  
“You do?” Luke asks, his voice coming out high and breathless.   
  
Michael nods. “Yeah. Sorry, if I shouldn’t’ve said that.”  
  
Luke shakes his head, overwhelmed by the emotion swelling in his chest. He thought it was too soon, to feel the way he does, but if Michael feels it too then Luke is done holding back. He tips Michael’s face up with a finger under his chin, dips down and kisses him. “I love you, too. So much.”  
  
Michael smiles against his lips.


	13. treize

“Is it okay if we try something new?”  
  
“Yes,” Luke says, automatically. Everything they’ve done so far, he can’t get enough of.  
  
“No, I’m really asking,” Michael clarifies. He leans back a little to see Luke’s face. They’re in Michael’s bed, the trail of clothes leading to it starting back in the kitchen. Michael is flushed and bright-eyed and his lips are so nice and Luke is hard enough to pound nails after what feels like a year of slow, happy kisses and Michael’s hands on his skin. “Because if it’s no, then it’s no and that’s okay. I won’t be mad or something. And if you don’t like it, you gotta tell me.”  
  
Luke frowns, suddenly nervous. “Do you have like a sex swing or something hidden around here?”  
  
Michael laughs softly. He smooths the messy hair off Luke’s forehead and kisses it. “No.”  
  
“What were you thinking?”  
  
Michael blushes a little and runs his nose along Luke’s cheek while he talks, so he doesn’t have to look Luke in the eye. It’s comforting to know Luke isn’t the only one who lacks confidence about this type of thing yet. “Thought I could put some fingers in you.”  
  
“Oh.” Luke swallows and a shiver runs down his spine. It’s not as if he didn’t know that’s the direction they were heading in. He has a mechanical understanding of how it works, when it’s two boys. He just hasn’t spent a whole lot of time thinking about the specifics of it, and he really, really wishes he could be cooler about this but instead he just matches Michael’s blush. “Yeah.”  
  
“If you don't want – ”  
  
“No, I … I do. I think. I don’t know.” Luke buries his face in Michael’s chest.  
  
“It feels really good, I promise,” Michael says softly. “And if you don’t like it, you just say stop and we stop.”  
  
“You’ve done it?”  
  
“I’ve … done most things,” Michael says, sounding apologetic.  
  
Luke has no right to feel the way he does, but he wishes that weren’t true. He wishes they were both brand new. He’s embarrassed, mostly, because Michael deserves to be with someone who knows everything Luke doesn’t.  
  
“It’s okay,” Michael says. He kisses Luke’s forehead again. “We don’t have to.”  
  
“No, that’s – no. Sorry, I was thinking about something else.” Luke looks up at him. “I want to. If you do.”  
  
Michael nods.  
  
“How do we … um.”  
  
Michael smiles and kisses Luke’s lips, and then he gets up. It feels like ice on Luke’s skin, losing the contact, the warmth. He wants Michael back the second he’s gone. Michael is there a second later, pushing the sheets back and crawling on top of Luke to kiss him again. Luke holds him there for a minute or two, swirling his tongue in Michael’s mouth, rolling his hips up so his hard cock slides next to Michael’s.  
  
“You want this to be over so fast?” Michael teases with a breathless laugh. Luke is so whipped by the way Michael sounds when he’s turned on.  
  
“You close?”  
  
“Could be. You do that to me.” Michael pushes up to his hands and knees. He kisses Luke’s neck, dragging his teeth gently over the muscle, and moves slowly down Luke’s chest, laving his tongue over every bit of skin he can get at.  
  
Luke’s skin is damp and the air is cool against it again now that Michael isn’t pressed against him, and he says so.  
  
“I’ll warm you up,” Michael answers with a flirty wink.  
  
Luke laughs. “Cheesy.”  
  
Michael just grins and keeps moving, licking along Luke’s stomach and hips, so close to Luke’s dick where he’d really like Michael’s lips to be but never quite there. Luke is panting and Michael’s barely done anything. Michael nudges Luke’s legs apart so he can settle between them, and Luke spreads them to make room. There’s a soft noise, that Luke realizes is the flicking open of the cap on the bottle in Michael’s hand. Luke watches, some apprehension, as Michael squeezes clear gel onto his fingers and rubs to warm it up. He kisses Luke’s hipbones and lets his slippery fingers trail down Luke’s abdomen and lower, between his legs. Luke’s heart races.  
  
“It’s okay,” Michael murmurs, words pressed lovingly into Luke’s skin. “Relax. I won’t hurt you.”  
  
Luke shakes his head. “I know.” That isn’t what he’s worried about. He isn’t worried about anything specifically. It’s all just new.  
  
Finally Michael moves his lips to Luke’s cock, licking slowly, maddeningly at the head where it’s resting against Luke’s belly. He touches Luke’s hole with the tip of a finger as he does, rubbing in tiny circles, letting Luke get used to it. Luke’s having trouble breathing. He had no idea what to expect but he doesn’t hate it. Michael pushes his finger inside, working it in and out slowly, and Luke swears and falls down from his elbows onto his back. It’s  _good_ , and that shouldn’t surprise him but it does. He reaches down, tangling his fingers in Michael’s hair, squeezing a handful of it to communicate  _keep going_ , because his mouth forgets how to say it.  
  
Michael’s tongue is like heaven against Luke’s cock, warm and wet and soft, and after a minute he pulls his finger out and comes back with two. It feels tight, stretched, but Luke likes it. Then Michael slides them in all the way and bends them, touching something inside that makes Luke moan.  
  
“Fuck, Michael.”  
  
Michael just hums happily and does it again, and then again, and pleasure erupts in Luke, hot and spinning.  
  
“Can you – harder?” Luke rasps, and Michael listens, fucking his fingers in and out of Luke quicker, more deliberate, and Luke sees stars. He holds back, usually. He never wants to come off too eager, for the noises he makes not to be sexy, for Michael to think he's faking it. This time, he can't. It's all too much, too good and too overwhelming. Luke lets go, lets himself writhe on the mattress and swear under his breath, his own moans ringing in his ears and his skin turned to goosebumps.  
  
When he comes it’s on Michael’s tongue, with Michael’s fingers rubbing that spot inside him, and it’s hard and powerful like a sucker punch. Michel crawls quickly back up the bed and kisses Luke, lips insistent and desperate against Luke’s, knuckles brushing Luke’s stomach as he jerks himself off. Luke wants to help, wants to make Michael feel good too, but he’s boneless and spent and he can’t, so he just kisses back weakly and moans with Michael at the first splatter of come on his chest.  
  
Michael laughs breathlessly and flops down next to Luke, wiping his hand on the sheets and then pulling Luke’s lax body into his arms.  
  
“Fuck,” is all Luke can come up with.  
  
Michael laughs again. “Yeah?”  
  
“ _Fuck_ ,” Luke repeats, for emphasis.  
  
“Good.”  
  
“Can you teach me how to do that?”  
  
“To yourself?” Michael asks, with a smirk.  
  
Luke smiles. “No. To you.”  
  
Michael hums, like he’s pretending to think it over. “I guess. If I have to.”  
  
“You have to.” Luke snuggles into him, sweat and come sticky on their skin but he doesn’t mind.  
  
For a long time, Michael doesn’t say anything else, and neither does Luke. He runs his hand slowly up and down Luke’s spine, making Luke shiver for reasons other than temperature this time. Luke draws shapes with his fingertip into Michael’s chest. It’s quiet and comfortable, and Luke is so content like this, wrapped up in Michael.  
  
“How, um. How many guys were you with before me?” Luke asks. It’s something he’s wondered, but never really wanted to ask.  
  
Michael hesitates. “Why do you wanna know?”  
  
“That sounds like a lot.” Luke cringes a little, and then feels bad about it. He still hasn’t figured out how to keep every thought that pops into his head from immediately coming out of his mouth. Luckily, most of the time Michael thinks it’s cute, now. “Sorry, that was rude. You don’t have to tell me.”  
  
“No, it …” Michael sighs. “It isn’t a lot. Only two. I just don’t love talking about it.”  
  
“So don’t,” Luke says quickly. “Really. I don’t need to know.”  
  
“Do you want to?”  
  
“Only if you wanna tell me. It isn’t my business.”  
  
Michael nods, and then doesn’t say anything for a long time. Luke cuddles up to him, pushing his face into Michael’s neck. He kisses the skin there and nuzzles into it; not pushing, just silently letting Michael know he’s there. Michael’s arms tighten around Luke. Michael really likes lying like this, Luke’s learned since they’ve been together. He likes holding Luke – protecting him, maybe. Luke’s more than happy to let him, even though most of the time it seems like Michael’s the one more in need of protecting.  
  
“The first one was that guy from my team, the one I told you about before,” Michael says eventually. He speaks slowly and quietly, like he’s choosing his words carefully. For his own benefit or Luke’s, Luke doesn’t know. “He was … it wasn’t much, between us. We were kids, and neither of us had ever … so. It was pretty tame, looking back. But then my dad caught us, and everything blew up. He wasn’t as good a player as I was, so it hit him harder, I think.”  
  
“You said he never made the NHL,” Luke remembers.  
  
“I’m not sure he would have anyway. But he blamed me for it, because having people find out … he was the kinda guy that wanted to be with another guy but didn’t ever want anyone to know. He didn’t want to be gay. He thought he could keep it a secret, like, forever. When people found out about us, it just destroyed him. He couldn’t play well to save his life anymore. So then he started telling people that I’d gotten him drunk. That he was straight and I’d just poured booze into him and then did stuff once he was passed out.”  
  
“That’s horrible. You’d never do something like that.”  
  
“I don’t know if anyone believed him. But it didn’t matter. He never talked to me again, and I didn’t wanna talk to him either after that.”  
  
“And the other one?” Luke asks.  
  
“The other one was …” Michael exhales slowly, and then trails off and the silence around them goes stilted and thick, and Luke’s imagination supplies all kinds of terrible ideas about why Michael might not want to talk about him.  
  
Luke slides his fingers over Michael’s cheek, cups it and brings his head down to rest their foreheads together. “Did someone hurt you?” he whispers.  
  
Michael shakes his head. “Not like that.”  
  
“Like what, then?” Luke strokes his thumb in a slow arc back and forth over Michael’s cheekbone.  
  
“I wasn’t in a good place. I was still dealing with my mom dying, and then the whole thing with everyone finding out about me. My teammates more or less stopped talking to me, my dad kicked me out. The guy was older. Late twenties I think, I’m not even sure. And he was good for me, in some ways.”  
  
“But?” Luke asks gently.  
  
“We just did a lot of things I probably shouldn’t have,” Michael answers. “Things I wasn’t quite ready for.”  
  
“Did he …?”  
  
“No.” Michael shakes his head. “He didn’t force me. I forced me. Because I didn’t want him to get tired of waiting for me.”  
  
“You shouldn’t have had to do that.”  
  
“I know that now. At the time I was worried he’d get bored and leave. Everyone else did. Except Cal.”  
  
“I won’t,” Luke promises.  
  
Michael swallows; Luke hears it click in his throat.  
  
“Did you love him?”  
  
“No.” Michael's fingertips play along Luke’s back, like he needs to touch to keep himself grounded. “I thought I did, then. But looking back, comparing it to what I feel for you, no way. Somebody kisses you, fucks you, doesn’t want you to leave right after, it’s easy to convince yourself they care about you. But it wasn’t like this. He wasn’t like you.”  
  
Luke tips his head up to slide his lips over Michael’s. “I love you.”  
  
“I know you do,” Michael whispers. “I love you back.”  
  
Luke deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue into Michael’s mouth, tasting the left-over tang of himself on Michael’s tongue. Michael knows what he’s doing.  
  
“It’s okay, babe,” Michael murmurs into Luke’s lips. “Those aren’t great memories, but they’re memories. I’m good, now.”  
  
He doesn’t seem to want to keep talking about it, so Luke respects that and tries to take Michael’s mind off it. He rolls on top of Michael, brushing their lips together in slow, playful sweeps. “Ready to go again?”  
  
Michael laughs, low and warm, and it’s like warm honey sliding down Luke’s spine. “Do you ever get tired?”  
  
“Nope.” Luke ducks down and licks at Michael’s neck.  
  
Michael sighs, fake and over-done; pretending to be annoyed when really he’s the complete opposite. “Fine. One more. After that, you’re on your own.”  
  
*           *           *  
  
Luke steps out of Michael’s bedroom, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He yawns, and then smiles to himself when he sees Michael at the table in the kitchen, hunched over something in front of him. Michael’s in sweats and no shirt, and his hair is messy, and Luke wants to snuggle him. He wishes Michael had woken Luke up when he did, earlier this morning, instead of getting up and letting Luke sleep. Luke would have enjoyed lying with him in bed while they were both still warm and sleepy.  
  
“Hey, you’re up,” Michael says, noticing Luke and smiling at him. “What’s another word for ‘erased’?”  
  
Luke frowns a little in curiosity. “What are you doing?”  
  
“A crossword.”  
  
Luke goes over to him, and sure enough there’s a newspaper spread out in front of Michael, the grid of the puzzle marked up with letters scrawled in blue pen. He leans over Michael from behind, plastering himself to Michael’s back, and squinting at the clue Michael’s asking about.  
  
Michael forgets his question for a moment and leans back into Luke. He tilts his head to the side, to rest against Luke’s jaw. “Hi.”  
  
“Morning.” Luke smiles, and kisses Michael’s hair. “Expunged.”  
  
Michael writes out the word in the air above the line, checking. “You sure?”  
  
“Yeah.” Luke points. “‘Cause then 34-down is ‘union’.”  
  
“Oh. Yeah.” Michael fills in the new words. “Thanks.”  
  
“I didn’t know you did crosswords.”  
  
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”  
  
“I wish I knew everything.” Luke turns his face into Michael’s, resting his forehead against Michael’s temple. He wraps both arms across Michael’s chest.  
  
“Guess you’ll have to stick around for a while.”  
  
“Wasn’t plannin’ on goin’ anywhere.” After Luke says it, it occurs to him that maybe Michael isn’t so used to people who say they love him staying around for any significant amount of time. He hugs Michael a little tighter.  
  
“Why so clingy?” Michael asks, but doesn’t sound like he’s unhappy about it.  
  
“‘Cause I love you.”  
  
Michael laughs softy. “So you’re a sap, huh? That’s good to know.”  
  
“You already said you love me back. It’s too late, you can’t change your mind now,” Luke reminds him.  
  
Michael reaches up and squeezes Luke's arm. “I wasn’t going to.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
“What do you want to do today?” Michael leans back even further into Luke, letting Luke support his weight; the crossword puzzle forgotten. “Whole day off.”  
  
“Ashton wants to take me to this ski resort.”  
  
“I didn’t know you could ski.”  
  
“I can’t. I don’t think he can either. He just said it’s really nice, there.”  
  
“Oh. Should I be jealous?”  
  
“No. One, he’s straight. Two, I’m madly in love with this other guy.”  
  
“Anyone I know?” Michael jokes.  
  
“Definitely not,” Luke jokes back. “And three, you’re coming with us.”  
  
“I wouldn’t ruin best friend bonding time?”  
  
“You don’t need to schedule time for bonding after you’ve shared a bathroom. We should get a group together. Call Calum, invite him too,” Luke suggests. “Gallagher, maybe.”  
  
Michael nods. “Yeah. Okay. That sounds like fun.”  
  
*           *           *  
  
It isn’t a short drive, but a good time. They listen to music and sing loudly and badly and tease each other when someone likes a song that the rest don’t. Calum secretly – well, not anymore – has a passion for Beyoncé, which Brendan finds hilarious. They talk about nothing, telling funny stories and laughing until they can’t breathe. Calum drives because his car is the roomiest, a gorgeous brand new Bently, and Brendan gets carsick if he isn’t in the front, so Luke ends up in the middle of the back row, sandwiched between Michael and Ashton, and they’re his two favorite people in the world right now so it’s perfect, in a way that’s too sentimental for him to voice out loud to a car full of dudes. Michael squeezes his thigh every now and then, and no one else really notices but they could, and it makes Luke smile to know Michael doesn’t care.  
  
Luke can never get his head around the enormity of mountains. He’s used to prairie, dusty fields and endless sky, so to see jagged rock ascending upward farther than he can even see is breath-taking. They’re huge and towering and snow-covered, beautiful and intimidating. The resort belongs on Christmas cards; small, rustic buildings with forest green roofs and warm, caramel colored log construction. There are hot chocolate stands every couple of feet. People mill about, in brightly colored snow-suits, struggling to carry skis and poles and snowboards. It must have snowed here last night, the trees are dusted with it, like icing sugar. The air is cold but the sun is warm, and the sky is bright and blue and Luke sort of never wants to leave.  
  
“We used to come here when I was a kid,” Calum says. “I was really shitty at snowboarding. Mali was good, though.”  
  
“Mm. Maybe she could teach me,” Brendan jokes, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.  
  
Calum shakes his head. “Dude.”  
  
Brendan laughs. “Your sister’s hot, man, I’m sorry. It isn’t my fault.”  
  
“She is not for you to even be looking at,” Calum says, pointing a menacing finger at Brendan.  
  
“She’s too good for you,” Michael agrees. “But she’s also hot.”  
  
“Like you would even know,” Brendan teases, lightly shoving Michael.  
  
“What, just because I’m into dicks, I can’t appreciate a nice piece of – ”  
  
“Michael!” Calum yells, interrupting what they all know Michael was about to say.”  
  
“Oh my God.” Ashton giggles, and then everyone else laughs too because he’s contagious that way.  
  
“None of you are allowed to even think about touching my sister,” Calum insists. “I am so serious.”  
  
“Two of us wouldn’t anyway,” Michael points out.  
  
“I wouldn’t.” Ashton protests. “It’s just Gallagher you have to worry about.”  
  
“I would treat her right.” Brendan throws an arm around Calum while they walk, now lopsided because he’s shorter. “We would make beautiful little multi-racial babies.”  
  
“Why am I friends with you,” Calum mutters.  
  
“C’mon, there’s a really great lookout at the top of this peak,” Ashton says, pointing in the direction of one of the many chair-lifts.  
  
Luke’s never been on one before. “How do you get on if the chairs don’t stop moving?” he asks, eyeing the apparatus warily.  
  
“It just comes up behind you and you sit. It goes slow, don’t worry,” Michael tells him.  
  
“I’m sitting with Ash,” Calum says to Brendan. “You are on your own.”  
  
“Fine.” Brendan rolls his eyes and pretends to be upset.  
  
The chairs do slow down as they round the corner where the line of people wait to board, and Luke manages to get into one without falling and embarrassing himself.  
  
“There, you can cross getting onto a chairlift successfully off your bucket list,” Michael tells him.  
  
“I still may fall on the way off.”  
  
“I’ll catch you.”  
  
Luke smiles at him. The lift rises slowly up the hill, through the trees. People ski down the mountain underneath them, weaving carefully around each other. The air is cooler up here, crisper. Luke’s breath turns to fog in front of his face. With Calum and Ashton in front of them, and just Brendan behind, Luke doesn’t have to worry about being caught in their secret so he leans against Michael. An arm slides around his shoulder and Luke turns into him, rubbing his cold nose on Michael’s neck.  
  
“Maybe there won’t be that many people at the top,” Michael says. “I wanted to hold your hand earlier.”  
  
“That’s cute.”  
  
Michael laughs softly. “Shut up. I like you, okay?”  
  
“I like you too.” Luke kisses the skin beneath his lips, and Michael nudges his head up to slide their mouths together properly. His lips are cold but his tongue is warm against Luke’s. Remembering what that tongue did to him last night has Luke shivering, not even remotely because of the cold.  
  
“Luke and Michael are making out!” Brendan’s voice yells in the distance from behind them.  
  
Luke cracks up, and Michael shakes his head.  
  
“Ew, cooties!” Ashton calls back, turning around in the chair ahead of them.  
  
“At least I brushed my teeth first,” Michael answers, loudly so they can all hear – and probably the next few chairs and some people on the ground as well. “You don’t wanna know the last place this mouth was.”  
  
“For the love of God, Clifford!” Brendan shouts.  
  
Luke groans in embarrassment and hides against Michael’s shoulder again.  
  
“When Luke got here he was so innocent!” Ashton cries accusingly. “You’re corrupting him!”  
  
“Hell yes, I am.” Michael sounds entirely too pleased about it. “I corrupted him twice last night.”  
  
“Well thanks, now I need to bleach my brain!” Brendan’s voice rings out.  
  
“Stop,” Luke whines.  
  
Michael kisses his forehead. “Sorry. It was a good night. Figured people should know.”  
  
Luke manages to laugh about it. “Yeah. It was.” He kisses Michael’s neck again, letting his lips linger there, and murmurs, “We should find a bathroom so I can blow you.”  
  
Michael makes a surprised, strangled noise and then laughs breathlessly. “Fuck, babe. Warn a guy.”  
  
“That was your warning,” Luke tells him. He reaches over, slides his hand up Michael’s thigh to his crotch and cups him through his jeans, squeezing his fingers around the soft flesh and rubbing slowly. It hardens under his touch, starting to strain against Michael’s tight pants.  
  
“Luke,” Michael mumbles in a shaky voice. “We gotta get off the lift soon.”  
  
“Want me to stop?” Luke asks, licking along Michael’s jawline. He finds the head of Michael's cock, where it’s tucked into his left pant-leg, and rubs harder.  
  
“No,” Michael breathes. “But you gotta, look. We’re almost at the top.”  
  
Luke reluctantly lets his hand fall away and sits back upright again, while Michael adjusts himself and tugs his coat down to hide what the other guys definitely do not need to see. Then he takes Luke’s hand and brings it up to his mouth, kissing the back of it.  
  
“Later,” he promises.  
  
Luke is going to hold him to it.  
  
It’s beautiful, at the lookout point. They’re surrounded by snowy mountains and an endless sea of pine trees, capped with a sky so blue it hurts to look at. There’s an older couple at the point when they walk up to it, but then the couple leaves so the five of them are alone. Calum makes them all squish into a picture he takes with the front camera on his phone, and then looks at it and laughs.  
  
“I’m tweeting this. We look badass.”  
  
Michael wraps his arms around Luke’s waist from behind and hugs him, and Luke smiles and leans against Michael’s chest as they take in the view.  
  
“It’s beautiful,” Luke says, quietly so only Michael can hear him.  
  
“Yeah,” Michael agrees.  
  
“If I get diabetes because of you two I am sending you all my medical bills,” Brendan says, but moves in and stands close to them anyway. Ashton and Calum flank them on the other side, and Michael kisses Luke’s cheek, and Luke can't stop smiling.  
  
*           *           *  
  
At the rink the next day, Luke can’t be sure but he swears he sees the old, green car in the parking lot that he recognizes as the one Michael’s dad drives. It makes his skin prickle uncomfortably, even though he isn’t certain it’s the same car. He doesn’t tell Michael, but he doesn’t let Michael out of his sight after the game, going home with him even though he wasn’t planning on it beforehand, and making sure he doesn’t see the car again before they walk the short distance from the parking lot to the front door of Michael’s building. Luke manages to be inconspicuous enough so Michael doesn’t notice. Luke knows for a fact security measures were heightened after Michael’s dad was able to sneak in a few months back, so he doesn’t think the guy was at the actual game. Which is worse, really, because the thought that he was just waiting in the parking lot again, maybe hoping to catch Michael alone on the way to his own car, makes the hairs on the back of Luke’s neck stand on end.  
  
He hugs Michael tight as they fall asleep together, after Luke triple checked the locks on the door and windows, aching with the need to protect him from something he might have just imagined. It feels real, though, and it feels scary. Luke doesn’t like anything about it.


	14. quatorze

Luke doesn’t stay at Michael’s the next night, and when they all arrive at the airport the following morning, for an 8:30 flight to Denver, Michael’s mood is dark and stormy. Luke can’t ask because they’re surrounded by teammates who don’t know their secret, but he thinks he might know why. They should have talked about this ages ago. They’ve really only done it once, Luke realizes, before they were even together. Luke’s been so stupid, living in this happy, pretend little bubble with Michael, where nothing matters but them. He should have been asking all along. If Michael’s seen his dad again, if he’s spoken to him, if it’s gotten physical like it did last time. Like it used to. Luke’s never seen bruises on Michael’s body, other than the ones from rough games, so he thinks he’d know, if Michael was getting hurt. The problem is emotional wounds don’t show.  
  
“Please talk to me,” Luke asks softly, once they’re 30 thousand feet off the ground. Michael glances warily at the stranger seated on the other side of Luke and shakes his head.  
  
“It’s nothing.”  
  
“I know it isn’t.”  
  
“Not right now, okay?” Michael doesn’t sound angry with Luke specifically, but he’s tense and grumpy and Luke tips his head back against the seat and closes his eyes.  
  
Michael won’t talk to him later, Luke already knows that. He doesn’t like to burden other people with his problems.  
  
Three or four times during the game, Luke ends up next to Calum on the bench, and the urge to tell him about this is overwhelming, burning through Luke’s chest like acid reflux. Calum doesn’t take Michael’s shit; if Luke told him what he suspects is going on, Calum would drag Michael off to the bathroom the second the final buzzer sounds and force him to spill everything so they can deal with it. Maybe that’s what Michael needs. Luke doesn’t say a word, in the end, because Michael trusts him. Luke can’t betray that. Not when Michael has so few people in his corner already. He makes a note, though, to pay closer attention to where Michael gets hit during a game, so he’ll be able to tell if a mark on Michael’s fair skin came from something other than an errant puck or a cross-check.  
  
*           *           *  
  
Luke is on his bed, feet up and earbuds in, when he thinks he hears a knock at his door. He pulls the buds out of his ears to be sure, because he might have imagined it.  
  
“Yeah?” he calls out tentatively.   
  
“Can I come in?” Ashton’s voice asks. He sounds upset.  
  
Luke frowns. “Yes.”  
  
Ashton opens the door and enters, and there are tears on his face.   
  
Luke sits up, heart instantly racing. “Fuck, what’s wrong?”  
  
Ashton sits on the edge of Luke’s bed and looks at his hands.   
  
“My, um. My sister.”  
  
“Is she okay?”  
  
“Not really. She’s going through a bunch of stuff. My mom’s not really sure. She’s being bullied, Mom thinks. She stopped eating.”  
  
“Shit.” Luke doesn’t know what to say. “That’s horrible.”   
  
“My mom wants me to come home. Just for a day or two.”  
  
“Go,” Luke says immediately. “If they need you.”  
  
“I can’t ask Therrien for time off for something like this.”  
  
“Ash.” Luke waits until hazel eyes meet his before he continues. “We can exist without you for a game or two. Go be with your family.”  
  
“You think I should?”  
  
“Yes,” Luke insists. “Absolutely.”  
  
Ashton nods and pushes his hair back. He doesn’t say anything else, and Luke nudges Ashton’s thigh with his foot.   
  
“Hey.” He tosses his head when Ashton looks, inviting him to join Luke, where he’s sitting.   
  
“It’s fine,” Ashton says, looking away.   
  
“No no-homo, right?” Luke reminds him. “That’s always been our thing. Even before I was one.”  
  
Ashton nods again, and reconsiders. He doesn’t laugh at Luke’s attempted joke – he probably doesn’t find it funny. Ashton would be the first to start throwing punches if anyone ever called Luke that. He sits next to Luke, reclined against the headboard too, and lets Luke put an arm around him.   
  
“My dad left when I was little,” Ashton tells him quietly, leaning against Luke. “I kinda replaced him, to them. To my brother and sister. Because they’re a lot younger than me. I always felt so shitty about having to leave them when I got drafted. They needed me and I just took off. So fucking selfish.”  
  
“I’m willing to bet you’ve never done a selfish thing in your life. You take care of everyone, Ash. You’re allowed to want things for yourself.” Inside, he wonders if he’s the only one who has a decent father. He hopes Calum’s is okay.   
  
“Except now they need me and I’m not there.”  
  
“You can’t be right at arm’s reach every time something bad happens to someone you love. You’ll be there soon. That’s enough.”  
  
Ashton nods and sighs. “Thanks.”  
  
“Any time.”  
  
“How are things with Michael?”   
  
“We don’t have to talk about that.”  
  
“I want to. Distract me.”  
  
“They’re great. He’s … great. I’m happy.”  
  
“That’s amazing.” Ashton slouches down a little and rests his head on Luke’s shoulder.  
  
“His dad is a piece of shit too. I’m sorry you guys both …”  
  
“I … I know.”  
  
“You do?” Luke wasn’t sure what, if anything, the rest of the team knew about Michael, so he didn’t want to say anything. He has a difficult time keeping things from Ashton, though.   
  
“Probably not as much as you do. But yeah, it isn’t a secret, what his dad did to him. Outted him, kicked him out of his house. Most people know that. It was in the news and stuff.”  
  
Luke nods. “There’s other stuff too.”   
  
“I’m sure there is. I always thought there must have been lots of reasons he was the way he was last year. I’m happy he talks to you. I bet that helps a lot.”  
  
Luke smiles a little and turns his head, resting his forehead against Ashton’s messy curls. “See, you’re hurting all over and you still just care that other people are happy. You’re the best person I know, Ash. Lauren is lucky to have you.”  
  
“Thanks,” Ashton says in a small voice.  
  
“Want me to talk to Therrien for you?”  
  
Ashton laughs a little. “No. I’m a big boy. I’m just … never mind.”  
  
“Please tell me,” Luke requests softly.  
  
“What if I can’t help?”  
  
“You can’t take away whatever’s happening to her. You can’t make it disappear. She just needs you to be there. Give her a hug.”  
  
Ashton nods. “You think the guys’ll be mad?”  
  
“Of course not. Dude, you’re going. I’ve made the call. I will buy the ticket and put you on the plane my damn self if I have to. I’m bigger than you, don’t test me.”  
  
Ashton laughs, louder this time. He pokes at Luke’s stomach. “But you’re all … noodley.”  
  
“Yeah but I’m fuckin’ al dente.”  
  
“Undercooked?”  
  
“Hard.”  
  
“Yeah, you’re a prison thug,” Ashton snickers.  
  
“Damn straight.”  
  
“Okay. You’re right, I’ll go. Thanks.”  
  
“Any time.”  
  
Luke drives Ashton to the airport in the station wagon the next morning, even though Ashton says he doesn’t need to. Luke insists. Ashton would do the same for him. Ashton would do a lot more for him, for anyone, and wave it off like he did nothing more than lend them a Kleenex.  
  
“Text me lots, okay? Tell me what’s going on.”  
  
Ashton nods and looks numb.   
  
“She’ll be okay,” Luke assures, rubbing Ashton’s arm. “I bet seeing her big brother will make everything better.”  
  
Ashton doesn’t respond, so Luke hugs him and then let’s him go.   
  
Luke fishes through his pocket for his keys at home later, realizing he’s never spent a night alone in this place before. It doesn’t matter, it’s just a strange thought.  
  
“Is that Luke?” what sounds like Calum’s voice calls from across the hall, behind the closed door.  
  
Luke abandons unlocking his own door in favor of opening Calum’s, and finds Calum and Michael on the couch. Calum is seated at the end, bare feet up on the table, and Michael is lying down with his head in Calum’s lap, but he sits up when Luke walks in. He flops down beside Michael and drops his head onto the back of the couch.   
  
“How was he?” Calum asks.   
  
“Worried.”  
  
Michael rubs his leg. “He’ll be fine. You’re a good friend.”  
  
“I hope so.”  
  
Michael kisses the side of Luke’s face, and Luke leans into him a little.  
  
There’s another knock at the door, and Calum calls, “Come in,” so Michael takes his hand off Luke’s leg. They’re still sitting too close, though, there’s no time to correct that, so when the door opens and Carey appears and his dark eyes settle on Luke and Michael, something like understanding passes over his face for just a moment before he focuses on Luke and asks, “Did it go okay?”  
  
Luke nods. He isn’t in the mood to deal with wondering too hard if Carey knows about them or not – if he’d been wondering for a while and just now decided the affirmative based on Luke’s current proximity to the whole right side of Michael’s body – so Luke just assumes Carey knows now and will handle it later if it ever comes up. He’s getting better at not caring. The discomfort isn’t gone, but it’s smaller now.  
  
Carey comes in further and sits in one of the chairs. “It’s so fucking stupid that he actually thought we’d be mad at him for leaving.”  
  
“That’s Irwin for you,” Brendan’s voice says, as he lets himself in, with Alexi trailing along behind him.  
  
“Do you not knock anymore?” Calum asks.  
  
“We knew you guys were in here. We saw Carey walk in from down the hall.” Brendon plops himself down on the couch, on Luke’s other side, squishing into a space that is too small for him. “Shove over, gay-wads.”  
  
“Fuck you,” Michael says with a laugh.  
  
Luke makes incidental eye contact with Carey, and yeah, he definitely knows. The pretend insult is innocuous enough that Alexi doesn’t notice.  
  
“We should go out,” Carey says. “To like a sports bar or something. Hot wings and way too much beer. Get a couple other guys, if they’re free. Ash would want us to have fun.”  
  
“Yes he would,” Calum agrees.  
  
They find a pub only a few blocks away, and go through the obligatory ritual of being recognized, pictures and autographs, being offered free drinks, but after a while they’re left alone around a big table with an embarrassing amount of wings and nachos and pizza and pitchers of frothy, amber Molson.  
  
“To Irwin,” Brendan says, holding a glass up in front of him.  
  
“The duct tape that holds this train wreck together,” Nathan adds, as everyone lifts their own glasses and bring them together in the center of the table.  
  
Luke takes a picture on his phone, later, and sends it to Ashton captioned  _missing our captain but happy you aren’t here this time._  
  
Ashton sends back the kissing emoji and adds  _raise one for me. And kick Tampa’s ass tomorrow for me too._  
  
They fly to Florida the next afternoon, playing the Lightening and the Panthers in back-to-back games, and they win both. Luke is relieved – Ashton would have blamed himself if they’d lost. When Luke picks Ashton up from the airport a few days later, he looks tired and frazzled – his hair pulled into a messy knot on the back of his head and dark circles under his usually sparkly eyes – but happy. Luke pulls him into a hug and Ashton returns it, his arms tight around Luke’s body. A camera flashes at them from across the room, and Luke couldn’t care less.  
  
“How’s Lauren?”  
  
“Better, I think. She’s gonna see a psychologist. And she’s gonna text me the next time she feels bad so I can tell her how amazing she is.”  
  
“You’re an awesome big brother.”  
  
Ashton grins. “And that’s coming from someone who has  _two_  awesome big brothers. So thanks.”  
  
“Three,” Luke corrects, poking Ashton lightly in the ribs.  
  
Ashton laughs and messes up Luke’s hair. “Fine. You’re an honorary Irwin. Let’s get my bag so we can get the hell outta here. I wanna hear about the Florida games.”  
  
“Did you watch them?” Luke asks, as they wait for Ashton’s suitcase to rotate around on the carousel.  
  
“Yes. You guys were sick. Turns out you don’t need me after all.”  
  
Luke chuckles. “I’m not sure that’s the point.”  
  
Ashton clears his throat and says, “Thanks, by the way. For … you know. Mom made me promise I’d tell you that, once I told her you were the one who convinced me to come home.”  
  
Luke bumps Ashton’s shoulder with his. “You’re always lookin’ after me. ‘Bout time I returned the favor.”


	15. quinze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys think you deserve two in a day? 'Cause I do :)

Michael gets into a fight, in a game against the Predators. They’ve been leading for over two periods, so the white jerseys get more frustrated and aggressive as the game goes on. Alexi already went off hurt, Luke doesn’t know how bad it is but the hit was low and he looked like he was in pain. Then Shea Weber takes a run at Carey well after the whistle, and it looks accidental enough but probably isn’t, and Michael loses it. Luke isn’t on the ice when it happens, but he watches Michael swoop in after the interference and shove Weber roughly into the boards, dropping the gloves as soon as the other guy does. A trainer rushes out to make sure Carey is alight, and the linesmen circle around Michael and Weber as they wrench on each other’s jerseys and trade punches.  
  
Luke’s seen thousands of fights. He’s never been in one, always too afraid he’d embarrass himself. Michael isn’t much of a fighter either, usually, but he’s a passionate player and Luke’s seen him get mad before, and running over a goal-tender is just plain something you don’t do. It’s an unwritten rule; a code they all live by. Luke’s heart races watching, with adrenaline and anger at Weber and pride at Michael for doing something about it.   
  
They fall to the ice in a pile of limbs and skates and Luke winces, hoping they’ll both get up okay because helmets came off and skate blades are really sharp. Just last year, Luke remembers hearing about a player from the Jets who almost died when a blade sliced into his femoral artery during a practice. It was all over the news. Another player from the team saved the guy’s life by ripping off his jersey and pressing it to the wound until the ambulance arrived. But they seem okay, other than a slow trickle of blood running down Michael’s face, when the linesmen manage to tear them apart and get them upright, and everyone on both benches stands and bangs their sticks into the boards in appreciation of their teammate. The crowd roars. They’re both sent to the box, but Carey isn’t hurt, and it fires Luke’s team up even more so that they score another three before the final buzzer.   
  
Michael is the talk of the dressing room. He scored the game-winner and he put Weber in his place when the guy thought he could get away with trying to take Carey out, and everyone makes a point of mentioning it. Michael brushes their praise off like he didn’t do anything special, but Luke can tell what it means to him.  
  
“Are you comin’ with me?” Ashton asks, packing his bag next to Luke.   
  
“After tonight?” Luke counters with a smirk that he’s proud of himself for. He’s enjoying this new-found confidence.   
  
Ashton laughs. “Didn’t think you were the type.”  
  
“Me neither,” Luke confesses.   
  
“Just go easy on him. He’s all cut up and we need him on Thursday.”  
  
“I wasn’t planning on breaking out the whips. We’ll just … you know.”  
  
“Have a bunch of gay sex?” Ashton supplies, dropping his voice low enough so only Luke hears.   
  
“Should I send pictures?”  
  
“Ew, no!” Ashton giggles. He shoves Luke’s shoulder. “Go, then.”  
  
Luke meets Michael just outside the door, looking flushed and exhilarated, cheeks still pink from the shower and a bruise on his cheek and the nasty gash above his left eye covered in the stuff trainers slather on cuts to stop them from bleeding. He looks like a warrior, and Luke’s heart races for a different reason.   
  
“Good stuff tonight!” Max says to Michael as he and Carey walk by, bags slung over their own shoulders.   
  
“You were a beast out there, man,” Carey adds, clapping Michael on the shoulder. “Thanks for having my back.”  
  
“Any time,” Michael answers, smiling at them as they walk off toward the exit.   
  
“Everyone’s hero,” Luke tells him quietly, and Michael rolls his eyes but smiles even more.   
  
“You comin’ back with me?”  
  
Luke nods and winks, in a way he hopes is flirty, and then walks off without waiting for Michael to follow. Michael does anyway.   
  
Back at his apartment, Luke makes Michael sit on the countertop in his kitchen so he can examine the damage. The trainers wanted to look him over even more at the end of the game but Michael wasn’t interested in the attention. But Luke is sure as hell making sure nothing is broken, because the last thing they need is Michael realizing he busted his hands up two weeks from now when the bones are already too set to heal properly. The skin on Michael’s knuckles is pink and shiny and raw, exposed bits of it that would have bled at the time but have since stopped. Luke feels them carefully, running his fingers over every inch, checking for bumps where they shouldn’t be. Then he reaches up and runs the pad of his thumb gently over the cut on Michael’s forehead. It probably should have been stitched back together but wasn’t, so Luke finds a small butterfly bandage in the first aid kit Michael keeps in the bathroom, cleaning the cut again with a warm, soapy washcloth and then placing the bandages over it to keep it from splitting while it heals.   
  
He’s leaning in close to Michael’s face while he works, close enough to feel Michael’s breath on his cheek. It’s strangely intimate, but not in a sexual way. Luke likes it. He likes taking care of Michael – he likes Michael letting him. Michael leans in just an extra inch and kisses Luke’s cheek as soon as he’s finished playing doctor.   
  
“Thanks,” he says, softly.  
  
“You should’ve let the trainers do that,” Luke tells him. “If it gets infected because I did it wrong you’re not allowed to sue me.”  
  
Michael shrugs. “It isn’t that bad.”  
  
“You were awesome.” Luke brushes damp hair out of Michael’s eyes.   
  
Michael shrugs again, but he’s trying not to smile as he says, “Everyone, um. Likes me, now. Not just tonight, like. In general.”  
  
“Yes they do,” Luke agrees. He cups his hands around the back of Michael’s neck; Michael holds onto Luke’s waist, pulling him between his knees where he’s still perched up on the counter. He hooks his heels around the back of Luke’s knees so Luke can’t leave – not that he would.   
  
“Thank you,” Michael whispers. “For that.”  
  
“You don’t need to thank me. You did it.”  
  
Michael shakes his head and drops his gaze, like he can’t look Luke in the eye and say what he wants to say. Luke tips his head forward so their foreheads are resting together, careful to avoid Michael’s war-wound. “Everything is better, this year. And it’s because of you. You made it better. Can’t believe I was mean to you at first, we wasted so much time.”  
  
Luke closes his eyes, the familiar swell of feelings in his gut stronger than before, and kisses Michael slowly. “Love you.”  
  
“You’re all turned on from the fight, huh?” Michael teases.  
  
“No. Yes.” Luke laughs and blushes. “Shut up.”  
  
 Michael laughs back softly, so to keep him quiet Luke gets his arms under Michael’s thighs and picks him up off the counter, carrying him like a little kid.  
  
“Hey!” Michael yells. “Dude, put me down.”  
  
“Nope.” Luke kisses his neck and walks toward the bedroom – Michael is heavy but he manages not to drop him.  
  
“You’re such a dick, I’m not a fuckin’ pretty little girl you can just throw over your shoulder,” Michael grumps.  
  
“Apparently you are,” Luke answers, and Michael just grumbles something incoherent. Luke kicks the door shut behind them and dumps Michael messily onto the bed.   
  
Michael rests on his elbows, looking like sin with his messy hair and his already blackening eye. He’s hard in his jeans, like Luke is, and so beautiful like this Luke can’t tear his eyes away. He strips out of his pants and t-shirt, knowing Michael is watching closely, and then crawls onto the bed, walks on his knees until he can plant his hands on either side of Michael’s head and kiss him. Michael reaches up and pulls Luke down, flipping them over and kissing Luke hard. Luke slides his hands up the back of Michael’s shirt, the skin warm and soft under his fingertips. Michael grinds into him and flicks his tongue into Luke’s mouth, his thigh pressing and rubbing between Luke’s legs and making him dizzy.   
  
“Do your hands hurt?” Luke asks, between heated brushes of their lips.  
  
“A bit. Bet you could make me forget about it.”  
  
“Want you to fuck me,” Luke whispers.   
  
Michael stills on top of him, the air between them suddenly tension thick. Michael doesn’t move, keeps his face against Luke’s, their lips touching, breath passing between them, words bouncing back and forth that neither have the courage to speak out loud. It’s like he’s waiting for Luke to take it back. Giving Luke the chance to say  _just kidding_  so Michael can laugh and brush it all off as a joke. Luke swallows nervously, but he doesn’t. They’ve done fingers, and mouths, and nearly everything else, and Luke wants to have everything. He wants to be connected to Michael, in the way you can’t take back.  
  
“Really?” Michael asks, eventually.  
  
Luke nods. “That’s where this was going eventually anyway, right? Why not now?”  
  
“Yeah, but … you don’t have to. I’m not, like, a top. Or whatever. I’m not specifically one thing. It could be me, the first time.”  
  
“It can be you the second time.” Luke cups Michael’s face in his hands and kisses the corner of his mouth. It’s sweet that Michael offers. It makes Luke want it more. “I love you. I want this with you.”  
  
“You sure?”  
  
Luke smiles. If he wasn’t before, he is now. “Yes.” He trails his fingers through Michael’s hair and nudges his face back an inch so they can see each other. “I  _love_  you,” Luke repeats. “I trust you. Please?”  
  
Michael looks overwhelmed, but he nods and kisses Luke again. It’s different now; more heated, but heavier too, as if the weight of what’s about to happen is trapped in the space between their bodies. Michael rolls his hips into Luke’s slowly, but he’s still clothed while Luke is naked so it’s too much, the fabric of his jeans rough on Luke’s aching cock.  
  
“Michael,” he whispers, pushing gently at Michael’s shoulder.  
  
“Yeah.” Michael nods and then gets up, stripping himself and getting what they need from a drawer.  
  
Luke’s the one who asked Michael to do it but he still misses his heat, his weight, as soon as Michael is gone, and wants it back. Michael doesn’t make him wait long. He’s back a moment later, blanketing Luke with his body again, nude this time; warm, bare skin against skin. They both can, and have, gotten off just like this, just moving together, slicked with sweat, lips and hands needy and hips rocking. Luke loves it like this but he wants more this time.  
  
“C’mon,” he urges. He gets that Michael is stalling. He’s nervous, and Luke is too, so it soothes his racing heart to know he isn’t alone in that. If Michael’s unsure as well then they can fumble through this and figure it out together.  
  
“Promise you’ll tell me to stop,” Michael says softly.  
  
“Why are you always saying that?” Luke asks. “I trust you, don’t you know that?”  
  
“Because I didn’t,” Michael answers.  
  
“Didn’t what?” Luke is confused for just a moment, and then he gets it. “You … didn’t tell someone to stop. Fuck, Michael.”  
  
Michael shakes his head. “It’s okay. Just promise me you will.”  
  
Luke nods. He cups Michael’s face in his hands and kisses him gently. “I will. I won’t need to. But if I do, I will.”  
  
Michael nods too, and kisses Luke back. He inhales as he does, breathing Luke in, and Luke feels it to his toes.  
  
He lets his legs fall apart, making room for Michael to kneel between them. Michael kisses slowly down Luke’s chest, torturing him with brushes of his lips, laves of his tongue. Normally Luke likes this, drawing it out, squeezing every drop of pleasure from the moment. This time he’s anxious, antsy to get to the ending. He trails his fingers through Michael’s hair, tugging gently, but Michael doesn’t speed up. He reaches Luke’s cock eventually and licks at it, unhurried and teasing, and Luke’s skin prickles. When he finally picks it up and takes the head into his mouth Luke could cry with how good it feels. He forces himself up to his elbows to watch. Michael’s lips are red and pretty and they look like heaven wrapped around Luke. He looks up at Luke, big green eyes turned dark in arousal, and winks at him. His tongue dances along the underside of Luke’s cock, and Luke moans; his head falling back and his eyes slipping closed.  
  
Michael’s name spills from his mouth, breathy and needy, and Michael hums around his mouthful. The vibration has Luke shivering. Light fingertips brush his entrance, and Luke hitches one leg up to give Michael more room. Michael’s fingers work into him one at a time, slow and careful, and Luke pushes back against them, already desperate for more. Michael’s mouth is warm and wet and his fingers crook to find the spot inside Luke that makes him see stars, and it’s overwhelming and good and part of Luke wants to end it like this. A bigger part wants more, though, so he nudges at Michael.  
  
“That’s enough,” he mumbles.  
  
Michael ignores him and keeps going, sliding what feel like three fingers in and out of Luke, twisting them, spreading them apart, the stretch pronounced and sharp. He rubs all the sensitive spots inside and Luke arches up into him, his body chasing after it. His fingers curl to fists in the already messy sheets.  
  
“Michael,” he whispers anyway, reaching for him.  
  
Michael listens this time.  
  
“How do we …?” Luke asks, cheeks flushing in embarrassment at his inexperience.  
  
Trailing kisses along his skin again, Michael crawls back up Luke’s body, kissing his lips when he gets high enough. “It’s easier if I’m behind you.”  
  
Luke nods and his heart speeds up again. “Okay.”  
  
“Lie on your side.” Michael runs his nose along Luke’s cheek.  
  
“Yeah.” Luke does, and feels exposed and vulnerable while Michael roles a condom onto his own cock and slicks it with lube. Then he lies down behind Luke and wraps his arms around Luke’s chest, and then Luke feels loved, and protected, and everything is okay again.  
  
Michael kisses Luke’s neck as he lines himself up. Luke flinches when the head of Michael’s cock pushes into him, the stretch even sharper and not really like he was imagining. It sort of hurts and feels good at the same time, and Luke whimpers and pushes his face into the pillow.  
  
“Sorry,” Michael says, sounding upset, but Luke shakes his head and grips Michael’s thigh.  
  
“Keep going.”  
  
Michael does, easing himself in with careful, shallow thrusts, still kissing Luke’s neck as he does and holding him close. It stings while Luke’s body adjusts, and then pain melts fluidly into pleasure and Luke can barely breathe, can barely  _think_ , overcome with the enormity of it all. He’s connected to Michael like this, completely. It’s so much, physically, emotionally, all of it. Luke’s head spins and his lungs struggle for air.  
  
“Are you okay?” Michael whispers.  
  
“Yeah,” Luke whispers back. He turns, nudging Michael’s face with his own so their lips can slide together. “You can move.”  
  
Michael nods and does, slow at first, gentle rocks of his hips into Luke’s. It feels like his fingers but more, bigger, moving inside him. Michael’s heat is plastered to Luke’s back, the feeling of him familiar against Luke’s skin, his arms strong over Luke’s chest. Luke never wants him to leave. He holds Michael’s leg with his fingers so Michael won’t move away. Michael doesn’t seem to want to anyway. He surrounds Luke like this, inside him, arms around him. One hand travels down Luke’s stomach and finds his cock, fingers curling around it and stroking.  
  
“Fuck,” Michael breathes into Luke’s lips. “Feels so good, babe. So tight.”  
  
“Yeah,” Luke says again.  
  
“Are you … it’s good, right? For you?”  
  
“Harder?” Luke requests softly, instead of replying.  
  
Michael complies, pushing his hips up, the head of his cock finding Luke’s prostate on every other thrust. Luke’s body lights up, electricity running through his veins. The sounds he hears himself making should tell Michael everything he needs to know, even though Luke never really answered his question. He doesn't know whether to rock forward into Michael's fist or back into his cock so he does both, chasing that fireworks feeling he gets when Michael hits the right spot. Michael moans too, Luke feels it reverberate thorough both their chests.  
  
“Fuck,” Michael repeats, sounding wrecked. It makes heat flutter in Luke’s gut, knowing he did that to Michael. He pushes his ass back more, grinding himself on Michael’s cock, all traces of pain gone now, replaced by pleasure so overwhelming Luke doesn’t know how to handle it, how to do anything but hold on and let Michael keep him together.  
  
“There,” Luke chokes out. “Just like that. Fuck, so good, Michael. Don’t stop.”  
  
Snapping his hips, Michael drills into Luke’s prostate and strips his aching, throbbing erection quickly, flicking his wrist the way he’s learned Luke likes. He’s spent so much time, the last few months, figuring out exactly how Luke likes to be touched, what feels good, what makes him come; learning Luke like a textbook. It’s made Luke feel more loved than he ever was able to imagine before Michael was a fixture in his life. He never predicted someone would care about him as much as Michael does.  
  
“I …” Luke can’t finish the sentence, can’t get anything more substantial to put itself together in his fog-addled brain.  
  
“Me too,” Michael pants. He stops, buried to the hilt inside Luke, and rolls his hips in a slow circle, squeezing around Luke’s cock as he jerks it. “Do it,” he rasps into Luke’s ear.  
  
Luke’s eyes slam shut as it hits him, warmth blooming low in his stomach, prickling skin and clenching muscles, spinning like a hurricane, Michael the only thing that keeps him grounded. He’s vaguely aware of Michael moving again, thrusting into him half a dozen times and then freezing and grunting in Luke’s ear. The afterglow of it is too powerful. Luke feels like he’s on a cloud, every inch of his body tired and melted and happy. Michael smears weak, messy kisses into the skin behind Luke’s ear, his movements slowing as he rides it out, and then stills altogether. They lie together for just a minute before Michael pulls himself out as gently as he can – Luke winces just briefly at the sting – and then shuffles around behind Luke and gets up.  
  
Luke can’t move. He doesn’t want to, either, he just wishes Michael hadn’t left. Michael is back moments later, though, nudging Luke onto his stomach. Water drips between Luke’s shoulder blades, and he belatedly realizes what Michael’s doing.  
  
“You don't have to …” Luke mumbles into the pillow, feeling embarrassed and bare again, but Michael shushes him with kisses to the small of his back while he rubs a warm, wet washcloth into the inside of Luke's thighs, between the cheeks of his ass. The he tosses it away and lies back down, tugging the sheets back over them both and pulling Luke’s lax, boneless form into his arms.  
  
“Talk to me,” Luke requests, hating how needy he feels right now.   
  
“About what?”  
  
“I don’t know, anything. Just talk.”  
  
Michael runs his fingers through Luke’s messy hair slowly. “That was perfect.”  
  
“It was?”  
  
“Did you not like it?” Michael sounds so worried, so Luke kisses his shoulder reassuringly.   
  
“Loved it. Just … I wanted it to be good for you, since … you’d know. If it wasn’t. Because you’ve done it.”  
  
Michael hooks a finger under Luke’s chin and tilts it up, making Luke meet his eyes for just a moment before he kisses Luke’s lips. “I love you. It was amazing.”  
  
“Okay. Me too. Felt … really good.”  
  
“You’ve got this cute little dimple when you smile, only on one side, though.” Michael kisses Luke’s cheek and then rolls onto his back and pulls Luke half on top of him. “I love the way your chest tapers down to those narrow hips, so sexy. Wish I had shoulders like yours. You’re so good on the ice, you just fly around everyone like it isn’t even work for you. You’re so nice to fans when we see them, especially the kids. Their faces light up when you give them hugs and take pictures with them.”  
  
“What are you doing?” Luke asks, blushing at the praise and pushing his face into Michael’s neck.   
  
“You said to talk to you.” Michael slides one arm around Luke’s back and pets his hair with the other hand. “So I’m telling you all the reasons I’m in love with you.”  
  
“You can stop.”  
  
“Why would I stop?”  
  
Luke smiles and doesn’t answer.   
  
“Your nose does this thing when you laugh, it goes all scrunchy. It’s so cute. And I just want you so much, all the time now. It’s hard to be in like the locker room and the showers and stuff next to you and not touch you. Cal’s caught me staring a few times and then told me off for it.”  
  
“Okay seriously,” Luke laughs. “I love you. But knock it off.”  
  
Michael smiles; Luke can feel it against his forehead. “Okay. To be continued.”  
  
“Definitely not to be continued.”  
  
“We should take a nap. Then you should fuck me,” Michael says, casual about it.  
  
A swell of heat blooms in Luke’s gut and he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. “Yeah. Okay.”  
  
“Good.” Michael holds Luke just a little tighter. “Love you.”  
  
“I figured. Given how you keep saying it.”  
  
“Want me to stop?”  
  
Luke is so at home in Michael’s arms, he can’t joke anymore. “No. Never.”  
  
“I wasn’t going to anyway.”


	16. seize

 “Have you ever heard of Silverstein?” Michael asks, instead of saying hello when Luke answers the phone.   
  
“I don’t think so. Is that a band?”  
  
“Yeah. Like post-hardcore stuff. Lots of tattoos and emo pain.”  
  
Luke laughs. “Sounds like a good time.”  
  
“They’re playing a show downtown tonight, at this super seedy bar. You wanna go?”  
  
“Yes!” Luke cries. It’s been entirely too long since he’s had his ears ringing and a bass line thumping in his chest. He used to sneak into bars to see punk shows with this one friend, Matt, when he was in high school. He misses it.   
  
“Come over, then.”   
  
“Okay, I’ll be right there.”  
  
“Booty call?” Ashton asks, with a raised eyebrow, when Luke shoves his phone back into his back pocket.   
  
“Underground rock concert,” Luke replies.   
  
Ashton laughs. “Oh my God. He’s turning you into him.”  
  
Luke smiles. “We liked the same type of music before we were even friends. It’s the first thing we bonded over.”  
  
“That’s adorable.”  
  
“Shut up,” Luke tells him, and Ashton giggles.   
  
Luke changes out of his sweats and into skinny jeans and a blue flannel that Michael left here once, and then sticks his tongue out at Ashton on his way out the door as Ash jokingly calls, “Be home before midnight!” after him.   
  
Luke shivers on the short walk to Michael’s, tugging his coat in tight around his body and wishing he brought a pair of gloves. Michael buzzes him up right away, his face flushed when he pulls the door open. He looks like he’ll fit right in at the concert – in all black, with a pink Floyd shirt and a leather jacket covered in metal studs. His bigger eyebrow bar is in, and his earrings are the dangly ones with the spikes, and Luke blinks because he’s pretty sure Michael’s wearing eyeliner too and he’s never been hotter.   
  
“Holy shit.” Luke pushes his way into the apartment and grabs Michael’s face in his hands so he can examine his eyes closer, and there is very definitely the smudge of black around his long lashes.   
  
“Too much?” Michael asks, pulling his red bottom lip between his teeth in worry.   
  
“Are you kidding?” Luke laughs, mostly to cover up the way his voice cracks. “You look … fuck, Michael. So fucking hot.”  
  
“Didn’t know you were into punk this much.”  
  
“Me neither.”   
  
Michael smiles and leans up to kiss Luke. Luke wraps his arms around Michael’s shoulders, suddenly not wanting to go out anymore. Michael pulls back after a moment, though, and pushes Luke’s ski jacket off his body.   
  
“You are not allowed to wear that.”  
  
“If I freeze to death you’ll be hearing from my mother.”  
  
Michael smiles again. “C’mon. I’ve got something you can borrow.”  
  
“I’m already wearing your shirt,” Luke points out, as he follows Michael to his bedroom.   
  
“I know.” Michael grins at him over his shoulder. “You should keep it. Looks amazing with your eyes.”  
  
Michael pulls another leather jacket out of his closet. This one isn’t studded, but it’s faded and distressed looking and there’s a giant anarchy symbol stitched in white on the back.   
  
“Where do you even get these things?”  
  
“Online, mostly. There’s a couple cool stores downtown, too.” Michael helps Luke into the jacket and then turns him around to survey his appearance.   
  
“I so can’t pull this off,” Luke says with a grimace. Usually he’s okay about the way he looks, but sometimes he isn’t a fan of his blond hair and baby face. People don’t take him seriously.   
  
“You look  _so_  sexy,” Michael argues. He tugs Luke back in by the front of his shirt and kisses him again. “We have to fool around with these on when we get back.”  
  
“Kinky,” Luke jokes. “Also probably very sweaty.”  
  
Michael shrugs. “Not like I haven’t seen you sweaty.”  
  
“And smelled me.”  
  
“You’re just determined to ruin this, huh?”  
  
Luke chuckles. “Sorry.”  
  
They call a cab because Michael doesn’t want to look for parking, and his borrowed jacket definitely isn’t warm enough for February in Canada but Luke doesn’t mind. The cab driver gives them a funny look like he might recognize them but doesn’t know for sure, so Michael sits a platonic distance from Luke in the back of the car, but touches Luke’s thigh in the cover of shadows just to make Luke crazy, and Luke is so going to make him pay for that later.   
  
The band is amazing. The music is loud and angry, but in the best way. The guitarist’s fingers are just blurs against the strings and the bass and drums reverberate in Luke’s chest and he missed this so much. In a sea of bodies no one picks them out of the crowd, so Michael stands too close and touches too much and even kisses Luke once or twice, and it makes Luke tingle in excitement and the danger of knowing they probably shouldn’t be doing this but are doing it anyway.   
  
He can’t stop smiling when it’s over, or babbling about how good it all was, as they walk across the street to a 24 hour diner. Michael has this happy look on his face, like maybe there’s the same feeling in his gut and his chest that’s been in Luke’s since the first time they kissed. This is what it’s supposed to be like, Luke realizes. This is what his brothers feel for their girlfriends, the thing Luke was never able to feel for anyone else, as much as he tried. Michael is it, he's Luke’s person. The one who makes him understand love songs.   
  
Michael orders coffee for them both, and then slips his jacket off to reveal bare arms under his t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, and Luke wants so badly to touch him but can’t because when the waitress sat them she wished them luck in the game tomorrow with a wink.   
  
“So you had fun?” Michael asks, teasing because Luke hasn’t shut up about it since the band left the stage.   
  
“That was awesome. We should do this more often.”  
  
Michael nods. “Okay. We will, then.”  
  
Luke smiles at him and glances around, wanting to make sure no one is looking so he can squeeze Michael’s hand. What catches his eye, instead, is a familiar face, staring at him from a few booths back. It takes Luke a minute to place it, to remember where he’s seen sandy-blond hair and those lips curled into a sneer, but then he notices the eyes, green and round like Michael’s, and it all comes back with a sickening, haunting clench of his gut.   
  
“What?” Michael asks, sounding concerned. It must show on Luke’s face.   
  
“Your dad,” Luke whispers.   
  
Michael’s eyebrows shoot up into his messy fringe. “What?”  
  
“He’s here. Behind you.”  
  
Michael whips around, and then almost immediately turns back. “Fuck.”  
  
“What do we – do you wanna go?”  
  
“Fuck,” Michael repeats, little louder.   
  
It’s too late anyway. He’s already walking towards them.   
  
“Michael,” Luke warns.   
  
Michael knows what’s happening, but won’t look up.   
  
“Evening boys,” his dad says, voice frighteningly casual.   
  
“Come on,” Michael says to Luke, completely ignoring his dad and pulling his jacket back on.   
  
Luke’s heart beats so fast it makes him dizzy but he makes to leave without question.   
  
“Where you going, Mikey?”  
  
“Don’t call me that,” Michael snarls, pushing roughly past his father and heading toward the exit. Luke hurries along behind him.   
  
They make it out of the diner but he follows them.   
  
“What would your mother think of this?” he calls after them.   
  
Michael pauses and turns around, his voice dangerous when he asks, “of  _what_?”  
  
“Leather. Tattoos. Metal through your face. The boy-toy.”  
  
Michael walks toward his dad suddenly, challenging like a bull about to charge. “Call him that again.”  
  
“Did I hit a sore spot?”  
  
“He is a  _teammate_ , you unbelievable asshole!” Michael snaps.   
  
“Sure he is. Does his family know what you turned him into?”  
  
Michael shoves his dad roughly. “I didn’t turn him into anything but I will turn you into fucking paint on the sidewalk if you don’t get the  _fuck_ away from me.”  
  
His dad just laughs, humorless and cruel, and Luke’s blood runs ice cold in his veins. “Michael,” he says urgently. They need to get out of here before Michael loses his cool and does something he will regret. Or before he gets hurt.   
  
“How long are you gonna keep doing this?” Michael asks. “I get it, I’m a disappointment, you wish you never had me, it’s always the same shit! Aren’t you getting tired of following me around? Just leave me the fuck alone!”  
  
“Your mother was a  _saint_ ,” Mr. Clifford yells, shoving Michael right back. “And she would roll over in her grave if she could see what you’ve become. I am  _happy_  she died when I see you, because at least she never had to see her son dressed like a god damn dominatrix, sticking his dick in some blond, pansy little faggot – ”  
  
“Finish the sentence and I will put you in the ground next to her!” Michael shouts, and Luke is so scared of this guy but he reacts without thinking and pushes himself in between them.   
  
“Stop,” he pleads, focusing on Michael. “He isn’t worth it.”  
  
“Listen to the kid, Mikey.”  
  
Michael tries to lunge around Luke but Luke holds his ground, and it takes all his strength but he forces Michael back a few steps. Then he turns to Michael’s dad. “Walk away.”  
  
“Or what?” he sneers.   
  
“You think you could take both of us?” Luke threatens, finding courage somewhere because he’s equal parts furious and terrified. He is’t really tough, but he’s half a foot taller than Michael’s dad so he does his best to play intimidating. “Walk away, or you’re gonna find out.”  
  
Mr. Clifford glares like he wants to murder Luke with his eyes, but thankfully he listens. He smirks at them and then turns and takes off. Luke breathes a sigh of relief, but when he turns around Michael is already stalking off in the other direction.   
  
“Fuck,” Luke mutters under his breath, and jogs to catch up. “Michael.”  
  
He doesn’t stop, until Luke gets in front of him and makes him stop.  
  
“Hey,” he says, his stomach flipping over itself when he sees Michael’s face. “Wait.”  
  
Michael does, but won’t look at him, so Luke just hugs him because he doesn’t know what else to do.   
  
“Someone could see,” Michael says flatly, and doesn't hug back.   
  
Luke’s heart breaks a little. It’s so cold standing here in the snow, in the dark, and Michael is hurting and Luke needs him to hug back. “I don’t care.”  
  
“He …” Michael mumbles, not finishing the thought.   
  
“I know.” Luke holds him tighter, and finally Michael’s arms find their way around Luke’s waist. “It’s okay.”  
  
“I don’t know how he found me. Again.”  
  
“It doesn’t matter. He’s gone. Okay? Let’s go home, it’s freezing.”  
  
Michael nods, and Luke keeps his arm around Michael’s shoulders as they walk together. It’s a long walk and it’s snowing, but Luke doesn’t let go of Michael. He can’t get his own heart to stop racing, so he needs the contact as much as Michael does.   
  
They’re both shivering by the time they get back to Michael’s place and soaked from the snow, and Luke takes care of turning the heat up because Michael is a zombie. He just stands there, in the kitchen still in his boots and wet, frozen clothes, his face expressionless and his hair stuck to his forehead, damp from melted snowflakes.   
  
Luke rummages around in Michael’s drawers, willing his teeth to stop chattering as he looks for something dry to change into. He finds plaid flannel pajama pants and what looks like an old jersey from Michael’s junior team, with Clifford and his number on the back. He peels his wet clothes off and redresses, and then finds a pair of sweats and Michael’s favorite Metallica shirt and takes them to the kitchen. Michael hasn’t moved, like maybe he’s forgotten how, and Luke has to blink back tears as he approaches his boyfriend tentatively.   
  
“Michael?” he asks softly.   
  
Michael looks up, startled, as if he’d forgotten Luke was here.   
  
Luke holds out the clothes he brought. “You gotta change or you’re gonna get sick.”  
  
Michael wordlessly takes the items from Luke’s hands and disappears into his bedroom. Luke presses his lips together and swallows over a lump rising painfully in his throat. Michael comes back a minute later, his feet bare and his hair still wet but at least his clothes are dry. He stands next to Luke, leaning back against the granite countertop, with his arms crossed over his chest. For a moment, Luke doesn’t know what to do. What to say, how to make this better. Then he realizes there isn’t anything he can say, so he doesn’t bother trying. He just moves into Michael’s space again, cupping his cheeks and resting their foreheads together.   
  
Michael’s hands come up and circle loosely around Luke’s waist.   
  
“I’m so sorry,” Michael whispers. “For what he called you.”  
  
Luke shakes his head, desperate for Michael to understand. “No. Don’t, don’t you dare think you have to apologize for him.”  
  
“He used to call me that all the time, before he even knew I was gay. I hate that word,” Michael mutters bitterly. “I hate him.”  
  
“I hate him a little too. It isn’t fair you’ve had to deal with him your whole life.”  
  
“He wasn’t always like this. After my mom …” Michael sighs quietly. “Do you think he was right, what he said about her? That she wouldn’t like what I look like, that I’m with you?”  
  
Luke shakes his head. “No way.” He touches the skin on Michael’s inner arm, where his tattoo is. “To the moon and back, right? That’s what she used to say. Not to the moon and back unless you turn out gay.”  
  
Michael nods.  
  
“You know what I wanna remember about tonight?” Luke asks. “The way subwoofers feel in your chest. When that one guy got so into jumping in circles while he played that he fell off the stage and everybody caught him.”  
  
Michael lets out a puff of air through his nose, a barely there laugh.   
  
Luke strokes Michael’s cheeks in slow arcs with his thumbs. “How beautiful you looked, all flushed and into the music. The way it felt when you kissed me and didn’t care who saw.”  
  
Michael exhales shakily and nods.   
  
“Tonight was amazing. He doesn’t get to take that from us.”  
  
“I like you in my jersey,” Michael says softly.  
  
“So fuck me in it,” Luke whispers.   
  
Michael shivers. “Okay.”  
  
He lets Luke lead him back to the bedroom, and strips them both of everything but the old jersey. Luke is still cold, but he warms up quickly with Michael’s hands on him, Michael’s lips against his. There’s smudged eyeliner under Michael’s eyes and secret pain in them, and Luke does the best he can to kiss it all away. He rides Michael, slow and easy, rolling his hips, Michael deep inside him, pressing into all the spots that make Luke see stars. Michael’s unusually quiet, but he grips Luke’s hips and his expression softens to one of pure bliss, and he whispers how perfect Luke is, how good he feels. Luke whispers back that he’s so in love with Michael, and the words look like they hurt to hear right now so then he doesn’t say it again. He feels it, though. He feels it so strongly it overwhelms him.  
  
“Being with me shouldn’t mean having to put up with him,” Michael mumbles after, when Luke’s arms are around him. His fingers play with the fabric of the jersey, the only thing separating their bare skin.  
  
“You need to stop giving me excuses to bail on this, like you think I might take them,” Luke tells him gently. He kisses Michael’s forehead. “I won’t, so it’s a waste of time.”  
  
Michael nods a little and closes his eyes, turning his face into the pillow. Luke doesn’t make him talk anymore, when he can tell every word is draining Michael. He just kisses his face a few more times and then runs his fingers through Michael’s hair until he drifts to sleep. Only after Michael’s breathing has evened out does Luke finally let his walls tumble a little and let himself feel what happened earlier. Luke has no idea how to keep it from ever happening again, but he needs to figure that out. 


	17. dix-sept

March brings nicer weather. There’s still snow on the ground but it quickly begins to melt, the daylight longer and the sunshine more direct and powerful. Luke can feel it when he goes outside, on his shoulders and the backs of his knees, soaking into his black clothing. In January, even on the sunniest day, it produces light but not heat. That’s beginning to change now. There are warmer breezes from the south and the ice on the river starts to soften, breaking slowly into pieces until the water underneath begins to move them downstream like mini icebergs. Luke and his friends can spend more than a few minutes outside without risking frostbite, suddenly, so they all do – anxious after the winter to feel the sun on their skin.   
   
Luke and Michael walk along the boardwalk one day with Carey and Calum, just for something to do, and they’re far from alone. The whole city comes back to life as the days get longer and the cold less bitter. They wander the lobby of the Chateau Frontenac. It’s the most beautiful hotel Luke’s ever seen; old and ornate and resplendent. A concierge recognizes them and offers to show them the most expensive suite, for interest’s sake, and it’s so luxurious that it’s surreal to imagine anyone having enough money to actually stay here. Luke will, though, he realizes. Good players get paid unthinkable amounts of money. Even now, in his first year, Luke’s making more than he knows what to do with. Someday, Luke wants to stay with Michael in this room. Michael deserves to be treated this nicely.  
   
Michael does get a cat. Luke thought he was joking about that, when they spoke at Christmas, but one day Michael announces that he wants one and that Luke has to help him pick one out.   
   
“That’s so coupley,” Luke teases.   
   
“Are we not a couple?”  
   
“We are.”  
   
“So let’s go, then.”  
   
They find a shelter, and standing in the room full of cages, each one inhabited by tiny, mewling balls of fluff, Luke wants to take them all home. He isn’t a cat person, really, but they’re so small and soft looking and Luke could definitely become a cat person. Especially if Michael is. Luke spots a solid black one with shaggy fur and piercing, ice-blue eyes, and points to it.   
   
“That one looks like Kellin Quinn,” he says, as a joke, but Michael’s eyebrows shoot up into his fringe.   
   
“Holy crap it does.”  
   
His band is releasing a new album, in a couple weeks, and Michael and Luke have spent more than one evening listening to the new singles loud enough to be bothersome to the neighbours and air-guitaring like dorks, that usually end in one of them grabbing the other and both falling onto the couch, making out until their lips go numb and grinding until they’re hard and desperate enough to stumble ungracefully to the bedroom.   
   
“That has to be it,” Michael says decisively.   
   
“You think?”  
   
“Yeah. We could name it Kellin.”  
   
Luke pauses for a moment, catching what was maybe just a slip of Michael’s tongue, before he tentatively asks, “We?”  
   
Michael shrugs, but Luke doesn’t miss the way his cheeks flush a little. “Yeah. I mean. If you want. It’s okay if you don’t.”  
   
“I didn’t, um.” Luke looks over his shoulder, and then moves a little closer to Michael. There’s an employee across the room, and she probably isn’t standing near enough to overhear but Luke doesn’t take any chances. The last thing they need is the press finding out they’re maybe getting a kitten together. There’s no possible way to spin that information that doesn’t sound like exactly what it is. “I didn’t know it was gonna be … ours.”  
   
“It doesn’t need to be. I just thought … I don’t know. It’s fine. We don’t have to.”  
   
Luke shakes his head, wishing they were alone so he could kiss Michael right now. “I so want to. That one is perfect.”  
   
Michael looks up at him, cautiously optimistic. “Yeah?”  
   
“Definitely. Although, if they ever play here and we go see them and by some coincidence happen to meet him, we are not allowed to tell him we named our cat Kellin. That’s just embarrassing.”  
   
Michael laughs. “I think he’d be flattered.”  
   
“I think he’d be creeped out, but whatever.”  
   
They take the kitten back to Michael’s apartment, and he wanders around for a while, exploring and sniffing everything, while Luke and Michael watch. He makes teeny, high-pitched noises as he becomes familiar with his new surroundings and then he jumps up onto the couch and curls up in Luke’s lap. He’s so trusting, even though they’ve just met. Luke scratches behind the cat’s soft black ears and it yawns and stretches and falls asleep, and Luke’s heart melts a little. Or maybe a lot.  
   
“He’s so cute,” Michael whispers, close to Luke’s ear, leaning on him.   
   
“Yeah,” Luke agrees. He puts an arm around Michael, and Michael rests his head on Luke’s shoulder. They sort of feel like a family, all of a sudden. Luke likes it. “This isn’t at all manly, you know.”  
   
Michael laughs softly. “I know. We’re pro hockey players. We spray testosterone all over everything most of the time. We’re allowed to be soft every now and then.”  
   
“Ashton is going to make fun of us.”  
   
“So is Calum.” Michael shrugs and kisses Luke’s neck. “Let them. They don’t mean it. They love us.”  
   
“We’re pretty loveable.”  
   
“You, especially.”  
   
“I don’t know. I love you a whole lot.”  
   
Michael hums and nuzzles into Luke’s skin.  
   
*           *           *  
   
They’re losing, badly. To the god-damn Leafs, of all teams. Luke’s brothers will officially have the right and the material to mock him for the rest of all their lives unless they can turn this around.   
   
“Come  _on_ ,” somebody to Luke’s right yells in annoyance as a teammate makes a stupid mistake and turns the puck over in their own end. Carey has to turn himself into a pretzel to stop it from finding the back of the net.   
   
“Fucking ridiculous,” Calum mutters.   
   
“This is a mess,” Ashton agrees. He’s usually the most optimistic person Luke knows, and even he seems to have given up. Luke doesn’t blame him. They’ve all played the whole game like they forgot what a stick is for, and there’s less than five minutes left and they’re three goals down. Giving up seems like the most logical option. Michael skates by looking frustrated, and Ashton yells at him, “Keep your head up, Clifford!”  
   
“Don’t,” Luke pleads quietly. “It won’t help.”  
   
“Well it can’t fuckin’ hurt,” Ashton mutters. He isn’t angry at Luke. He’s just angry. They all are.   
   
The puck bounces off the boards and spins down into the Leafs’ end, so red and blue jerseys flood the bench and Luke jumps off it, landing on the ice and flying down towards the Leafs’ defence. He needs to make  _something_  happen. They’re not going to win. Unless the entire Leafs’ line-up all pull a hamstring at exactly the same moment, there’s no hope of winning. But there’s still a chance of getting out of this with their dignity. Luke fights for the puck, wrestles an enormous defenceman and picks it off him because he’s quicker, and takes off with it up the wing. He flips it over to Lars Eller when someone is in his way, and Eller tosses it back after Luke doges around the guy and moves past him. They’re scrambling, and Luke can  _taste_  the goal. Reimer is weak on the glove-side, Luke’s been watching him all night. A well-aimed flick of his wrist is all it will take, and he’s nearly there.   
   
Then something crashes into him, and the world around him spins, and goes black.   
   
There are noises, first. Soft and muffled, and far away sounding. Then there are bits of light, and colors, and Luke struggles to pry his eyes open. His head could be splitting in half for how much it hurts. The rest of his body doesn’t feel great either. The lights and colors swirl above him – Luke can’t get them to stop. Why can’t he make them stop?  
   
“Luke?” a male voice is saying. Luke doesn’t recognize it. “Can you hear me?”  
   
There’s a brighter flash in his eyes suddenly, and Luke tries to shrink away from it. People are yelling.  
   
“Fuck off!”  
   
“What are you doing?! It’s a fuckin’ game, you’re out here try’na knock guys’ fuckin’ heads off!”  
   
“Fuck you!”  
   
“Step the hell away from him!” A deeper voice.  
   
“Yeah, I am, fuck! He’s okay, though, right?”  
   
“Go the fuck back to your own bench before I mail you there in a thousand pieces!”  
   
“Get the stretcher!” somebody shouts, somebody really close. It’s so loud, it aches in Luke’s pounding head. Someone’s hitting it with a mallet, or a hammer. They must be. That’s the only way to explain the thundering.  
   
“Is he okay?” somebody else says. They sound upset, desperate. It’s Michael, Luke realizes.   
   
A new swarm of blurs descend on Luke, and hands are touching him, moving him. Every inch he’s jostled feels like knives on his skin, and Luke hisses in pain. “Michael,” he breathes. It’s too soft for anyone to hear him. He tries to lift his hand to reach out, but he can’t tell if it actually moves or not.  
   
“You need to stay with us,” a new voice says sharply. “Can you tell me your name?”  
   
“Is he unconscious? Is he  _breathing_?” Michael says, louder. “Somebody answer me!”  
   
Luke struggles to focus. He can make out two fuzzy shapes in red and blue; one is Michael, struggling. The other looks like Calum, holding him back.  
   
“Let the medics do their job,” Calum’s voice says urgently.  
   
“Is he even  _alive_?!” Michael shouts.   
   
“Michael,” Luke repeats. It takes all the energy he has to make it loud enough.  
   
“Your name isn’t Michael. I need you to tell me your name.”  
   
Luke blinks a few times, and his vision clears a little. He’s more with it, suddenly. And in more pain. “Luke,” he forces out. “My name is Luke.”  
   
“Good, that’s good. You’re gonna be fine, okay? Just stay with me. Keep listening to my voice.”  
   
“Where are you taking him?”  
   
“Montreal General.”  
   
“I’m going,” Michael’s voice says.   
   
“You can’t – ”  
   
“I’m  _going_ ,” he repeats. “You can let me on the fucking ambulance or you can fight me.”  
   
“Fine.”  
   
“Mikey …”  
   
“Get  _off_ , Calum!”  
   
Luke tries to reach for Michael again, to let him know it’s going to be okay, but he can’t. He’s so tired. Keeping his eyes open is too much work, so he doesn’t. At least the pain stops when it all goes dark again.  
   
There’s only flashes. People yelling, someone squeezing his hand, someone touching him with something other than skin. Cold things, metal maybe. Luke can’t concentrate on any of it. It hurts when they pull him out of the ambulance, his body bumping on the stretcher. He doesn’t know how much time passes. He doesn’t know where he is. He does know the hand holding his on and off is Michael’s. He tries to squeeze it back, but he doesn’t know if it works. His brain has forgotten how to tell his limbs to move. It hurts too much to function right now.  
   
Eventually Luke can open his eyes, and keep them open. His head pounds, and his shoulder aches, but he can think again. And he can see and hear, and what’s in front of his eyes is staying put, not spinning, and it’s marginally better.   
   
“Michael,” he says, his voice raspy. No one is holding his hand right now. Maybe Michael left. Maybe he got tired of waiting; maybe he went home.  
   
“I’m Dr. Watson, Luke,” a gentle female voice says. “You’re in a hospital.”  
   
“I know,” Luke answers. He looks at her, at her brown hair and her dark-framed glasses and her pink lipstick, and can focus on details again. “Where’s Michael?”  
   
“Your friend has to wait outside.”  
   
Luke wants to yell that Michael isn’t his friend. He doesn’t, though.   
   
“You’ve suffered a serious concussion,” the doctor says. “You’re going to be okay, but we’ll have to keep you here for a few days. And it will take a while for you to recover. With physical therapy, you’ll get better. We’ll do a scan in a bit to make sure there isn’t bleeding in your brain, but I don’t suspect there is.”  
   
“Who hit me?” Luke asks.   
   
Dr. Watson laughs. “Always the first question with you guys. I don’t know. Sorry.”  
   
“Can I still play?”  
   
“There’s the second question. The truth is, right now, we don’t know. Some people make full recoveries. Your man Crosby did it just a year or two ago, right? But others don’t. I’m sorry, I wish I had a better answer.”  
   
Luke nods. He can’t deal with that information right now. It’s a later kind of topic. “What do we do?”  
   
“For the time being, we just monitor your vitals. You’re not seriously hurt anywhere else, although you’ll have a few nasty bruises. Later tonight we’ll make sure you can walk, try some food and some water.”  
   
“How long is this going to take?” Michael’s agitated voice carries in from the hallway.  
   
Dr. Watson smiles at Luke. “Alright. Let’s put your friend out of his misery, shall we?”  
   
She pats Luke’s arm and walks out of his line of vision, and then the sound of the door opening and closing reaches Luke’s ears and a second later he can see Michael.   
   
“Hi,” Luke says, trying to smile.   
   
Michael just stares at him. He’s still in some of his gear from the game. His jersey and pads are gone, he must have taken them off and left them somewhere, but his tight, Reebok undershirt is stained with sweat, and his hockey pants and socks make his lower half look disproportionately big compared to his torso. His hair is flat and matted from his helmet. Luke hopes he at least took his skates off. Michael doesn’t blink, doesn’t even breathe. He just looks at Luke like he’s seeing a ghost.  
   
“Michael.” Luke holds out a hand, wishing Michael would take it. “I’m okay.”  
   
Michael shakes his head. He does take Luke’s hand, and lets Luke tug him in a little closer. Michaels sits on the edge of the bed next to Luke’s hip; Luke shifts over an inch or two to make room for him, and it hurts to move but he tries not to let it show on his face.  
   
“Who hit me?” Luke asks. Michael will know. Michael will already be planning the guy’s funeral.  
   
“Phaneuf.” Michael’s expression darkens, and sure enough, “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him.”  
   
Luke squeezes Michael’s hand. “I’m  _fine_.” It’s less the actual truth and more a version of the truth Michael needs to hear right now.  
   
Michael is so pale, and his eyes travel over Luke’s body like he doesn’t quite believe it.  
   
Luke pulls gently on the hand that’s still in his, urging Michael to tip forward and rest against Luke’s chest. Michael does, but gently, holding himself stiff so he isn’t completely pressed into Luke. He doesn’t want to hurt Luke any more than he already is. Luke wraps his arms around Michael’s back and fixes that. It’s his head that’s injured, not the rest of him. Michael relaxes a little with Luke’s encouragement.  
   
“It was such a hard hit,” he whispers. “And then when you didn’t get up …”  
   
“I’m okay,” Luke promises, again. He’s going to keep saying it until Michael believes it.  
   
There’s a soft knock on the door. Michael sits up, pushing himself off of Luke just as their coach enters the room.  
   
“How are you?” he asks, eyes settling on Luke.  
   
Luke shrugs. “I’m sure I’ll live.”  
   
“I talked to your doctor. There’s a great rehab program here for head trauma, I’ve had others go through it. We’ll take care of everything you need. I’ve spoken to your mother, she knows you’re alright. I told her you would call her later.”  
   
“Thank you.” Luke had forgotten that his family was probably watching the game. He winces, thinking about them seeing the hit, seeing him on the ice and carried off it on a stretcher. His mom was probably losing her mind. He should’ve thought to call them sooner.  
   
Coach Therrien pauses, looking slowly back and forth between Luke and Michael, and Luke feels it coming before it does. “So. I need to ask what’s going on, here. Between the two of you.”  
   
Michael looks back, his eyes asking what Luke wants to do. Luke nods at him and smiles a little, because he doesn’t see what other option they have than to go for the truth. Michael gave it away, when he insisted on coming here with Luke while the game was still going. “We’re together,” Michael tells Therrien, his voice even. “Like … you know.”  
   
“I see.” Therrien frowns a bit, but doesn’t look angry. Just like he’s processing the information.  
   
“It won’t affect anything,” Michael continues.  
   
“Unless one of you gets injured and the other abandons his teammates during a game,” Therrien points out, eagle eyes focused on Michael.   
   
“Oh.” Michael scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably. “Uh. Yeah. It won’t happen again.”  
   
“See that it doesn’t.” Therrien stares a second longer to make his point sink in, and then turns to Luke. “Get yourself well, that’s the most important thing. I’ll look after everything else.”  
   
“Thanks,” Luke says.   
   
Just as their coach has his hand on the door to leave, Michael adds, “Hey, um. Could you not tell anyone? About … this?”  
   
Therrien turns slowly and looks at them over his shoulder, his expression serious as always. “The way the world has treated you has been inexcusable,” he says to Michael. “I’ve never done enough to stand up for you, for that I’m sorry. I would hate to see the same happen to Mr. Hemmings. I will keep your secret.”  
   
Michael nods. “Thank you,” he says, and then the coach is gone and he turns back to Luke with wide eyes.   
   
“That could’ve been a lot worse.”  
   
“No kidding.”  Michael shakes his head in disbelief. Then his eyes move down, in the direction of the bed, and his face falls again. He reaches out with trembling fingers and runs them over the spot where the I.V. is connected to Luke’s arm. He softly touches it, and then touches a bruise that’s blooming on Luke’s upper arm.  
   
Luke takes Michael’s hand again instead, and braids their fingers together. He can’t stand how sad Michael looks. “C’mere,” he says softly, tugging gently on Michael’s arm.  
   
Michael goes easily, this time crawling right into the too-small bed. Luke shifts over a bit more to make room for him, and Michael curls into his side and wraps his arm around Luke’s waist. He’s smaller than Luke so he fits here so perfectly, in the spot just under Luke’s arm. Luke hugs him, his arms tight around Michael’s shoulders, and rests his chin on the top of Michael’s head.   
   
“Talk to me,” he murmurs. Something is going on with Michael, something further than just Luke’s injury.   
   
“The last person I saw in a hospital was my mom,” Michael says, the words whispered into Luke’s neck.   
   
“What happened to her?” Luke’s always wondered, but so far he’s avoided asking because he wanted Michael to tell him when he was ready.   
   
“Lung cancer. She didn’t even smoke, she just worked in a bar before they banned it.”  
   
Luke closes his eyes. “I’m sorry. That’s horrible.”  
   
“She was supposed to get better. All her hair fell out and she was bruised and puking all the time but it was supposed to work. She was supposed to be okay. The doctors said she’d be okay.”  
   
Luke kisses Michael’s hair because he doesn’t know what to say. His throat feels tight, constricted, like if he tried to speak it might not work anyway. He hates this, feeling so helpless; like Michael is here, in his arms, and he’s wrecked but Luke can’t fix it. He feels like he should have known, a really long time ago, that Michael behaved the way he used to because there were ghosts under his skin.  
   
“She got so thin, near the end. She just wasted away, in a bed just like this one. There wasn’t anything we could do, we just had to stand here and watch it happen.”  
   
“How old were you?”  
   
“Fourteen.”  
   
“How long after did your dad catch you with that guy and kick you out?” Luke’s already done the math in his head; he knows it wasn’t long.  
   
“About eight months.”  
   
“Fuck,” Luke breathes, turning his face into Michael’s hair. He can’t imagine. After a year like that, he wonders if he’s lucky Michael is even alive right now.  
   
“It destroyed him. Losing her.”  
   
“Doesn’t excuse the way he is now.”  
   
“When I was a kid she was such a force of life, you know?” Michael continues, ignoring what Luke said. “She was always happy and laughing and running around after me, driving me to all my practices and everything. I used to be able to tell her anything, everything. She always listened, she always cared. And then seeing her in here, just broken down to nothing. I hate hospitals.”  
   
“I’m sorry you have to be back in one.”  
   
Michael shakes his head, his hair tickling under Luke’s chin. “It isn’t your fault.”  
   
“I’m still sorry.”  
   
“I thought you were dead,” Michael admits softly. “It was just for a second, when you weren’t moving, but …”  
   
“I promise I’m okay.” Luke doesn’t tell him what the doctor said – that it’s possible he’ll never play again. The possibility is small, she said so, but it has Luke so terrified that he doesn’t want to think about it right now.  
   
It’s like Michael finally unlatched the gates, and now he can’t stop talking. “Before I fell asleep sometimes, she used to tell me how she named me after Michael Jackson. She loved music, there was always something playing in our house. She hated ‘Mike’. That’s why I never let anyone call me that.”  
   
Luke remembers the one time he used the nickname. He thought Michael’s anger was unfounded at the time. Now he hates himself for it.  
   
“But I can’t … I can’t remember what her voice sounded like lately. How is that possible? It hasn’t been that long. I used to love the way she said my name, and now I can’t hear it anymore.”  
   
“I’m sorry.”  
   
“I like the way you say it.”  
   
“You do?”  
   
“Yeah.”  
   
“Michael,” Luke whispers, blinking back tears of his own. He’ll keep saying it forever, if it helps. It makes Michael shiver.  
   
“This is so stupid. You’re the one who’s hurt, I should be comforting you.”  
   
“I have a concussion. I’m not the one who watched his mom die, whose dad treats him like dirt, who just saw his boyfriend carried off on a stretcher. Some things are worse than physical pain.”  
   
“Does it hurt? Shit, I didn’t even ask.”  
   
“Yeah, it hurts. And so do you. So just stay here with me. We’ll hurt together.”


	18. dix-huit

The doctor makes Luke stay in the hospital overnight, even though he doesn’t want to. She says he may have to stay for a couple of days. Luke thinks they’ll see about that. Michael stays with him. The plump, no-nonsense nurse covering their floor tries to make him leave once visiting hours are over but Luke makes a fuss about it and eventually she gives in, waving her hands and walking out, muttering that she doesn’t have time to deal with this.   
  
“You don’t actually have to stay,” Luke tells Michael after she’s gone, “if you don’t want. If it’s too hard to be here. I’ll be fine.”  
   
“You really do have a head wound if you think I’m leaving,” Michael answers shortly, rolling his eyes. A brief while with his defenses fallen down, and now Michael’s back to his normal self. Stubborn, fiercely loyal, and short-tempered when someone says something he thinks is dumb, even when that person is Luke.  
  
Michael helps Luke stay awake for a while, because the doctors want to check his vitals a few more times before they let him sleep. They talk, about nothing and everything. They make out for a while, squished in the too small bed. Luke is left dizzy and breathless by the soft, focused way Michael kisses him, like he’s doing something important. They play cards at a little table in the rec-room down the hall. Luke’s head throbs, and a few times he feels like he might throw up, but it’s still fun because Michael is with him. Eventually looking at the numbers and symbols on the playing cards starts to hurt his eyes, so Luke has to stop. He was warned that might happen. He was warned he might not be able to read, for a while, or watch TV. Luke is dreading it all. He’s just hoping the doctors are wrong.  
   
When he’s finally allowed to sleep, a pair of orderlies roll a cot in for Michael but he doesn’t use it. He sleeps with Luke, and it’s squishy and too hot and probably not particularly safe since Luke is still hooked up to a heart-rate monitor and an IV, but Luke doesn’t care. He’s never spent a night in the hospital before, and Michael’s probably spent far too many. He doesn’t want Michael any further away than he has to be.   
  
Ashton and Calum and Brendan turn up in the morning, Ashton carrying a comically enormous stuffed penguin.   
  
“Oh my God,” Michael says, rolling his eyes again the second they walk through the door. “What the hell is that.”  
  
“I thought flowers were too girly,” Ashton says with a shrug.   
  
Luke laughs. “Holy shit. Where did you even find it?”  
  
“I’ve got a guy.”  
  
“A giant penguin guy.”  
  
Ashton sticks his tongue out at Luke and throws the penguin at Michael. He catches it and laughs too.   
  
“This is staying at your place,” Michael tells Luke. “I am not sharing a bed with this thing, I already have to deal with you being a blanket hog.”  
   
“Give it!” Luke demands, holding out his hands.  
   
Michael tosses it at him, and Luke examines it closely, and then hugs it. It’s almost as big as he is. “This is amazing.”  
   
“You’re a giant six year old,” Michael tells him.   
  
“Sorry we didn’t come last night.”  Ashton sits in one of the chairs, Calum sits in another, and since there isn’t a third Brendan plants himself in Calum’s lap.  
   
“How do you have such a bony ass?” Calum complains.  
   
“Can it, Hood.”  
   
“We were all worried,” Ashton continues. “Therrien said you were okay, though, so we figured there was nothing we could do here anyway.”  
  
“There wasn’t,” Luke agrees. “And I am.”   
  
“Some people seemed a little …” Brendan starts, and then scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably when everyone looks at him. “When Coach said Michael was taking care of you. They were … surprised, I guess.”  
  
“Some of the guys may have figured something out,” Calum sums up, being straight-forward about it when Brendan is too tactful.   
  
Luke had sort of been expecting that. It’s unheard of for a player to accompany an injured teammate to the hospital in the middle of a game. He’s still grateful Michael didn’t get in more serious trouble than a warning from their coach, but was still wondering if Michael doing it would raise some eyebrows among the guys.  
  
“Do you care?” Michael asks him. When Luke shakes his head, Michael tells the others, “We don’t care. But thanks, for the head’s up.”  
   
“So what’s the diagnosis?” Brendan asks Luke. “‘Cause, y’know. If you haven’t noticed, we kinda like having you around. Seeing as you’re scoring all the goals and shit.”  
   
“Not ‘cause I’m a good guy or anything,” Luke teases.  
   
Brendan shrugs and grins. “I guess that don’t hurt.”  
   
Luke smiles. “I’ll be okay. A few weeks off, probably. They’re gonna have to fight me to keep me off the ice longer than that.”  
   
“Rock and roll,” Calum says with a big smile on his face, at the same time as Ashton frowns and warns, “You’ll stay out for as long as the doctors tell you. We don’t need you rushing back and getting hurt even worse.”  
   
“Yes, mom.” It’s Luke’s turn to roll his eyes.   
   
“Speaking of, did anyone call your mom?”  
   
Luke nods. “I did, last night.”  
   
“Was she watching the game?” Calum asks, wincing. “Moms hate watching us get hurt.”   
   
“Her and my dad were, yeah. She wasn’t happy.”  
   
“Me and her should team up,” Michael says. “We could kill Phaneuff together.”  
   
“Dude, he got suspended for  _sixteen_  games. They announced it this morning.” Brendan flips through his phone and hands it to Michael, and Michael reads whatever’s on the screen. “That’s huge. Especially this close to the post-season. Way worse punishment than murder. Not that the Leafs will make the playoffs anyway, but still.”  
   
Luke agrees with his assessment, although he doesn’t say that out loud for Michael’s sake.   
   
Michael hands the phone back and reluctantly grumbles, “It’s a start. He still better watch his back the next time we play them.”  
   
“He’s way bigger than you,” Ashton points out.  
   
“Yeah, and he tried to cripple my boyfriend. So I’ve got rage on my side.”  
   
Ashton and Calum exchange looks, and then they both chuckle.  
   
“What?” Michael snaps.   
   
“You’re cute,” Calum tells him.  
   
Michael flushes and rolls his eyes again – only annoyed as a matter of principle. “You guys are dicks.”  
   
Luke smiles to himself and silently disagrees. He thinks they’re the best friends he’s ever had.   
   
*           *           *  
   
Luke has to stay cooped up in the hospital for another two days – he suspects more on the insistence of their coach than the actual doctor. Michael stays for most of it, but Luke makes him go home once or twice, to shower and change his clothes and eat so he can come back looking a little more human. Luke is bored when Michael leaves, since the doctor was right and watching TV hurts and he doesn’t have much else to do. He doesn’t tell Michael that. Mostly Luke just stares out the window while he’s alone, but even that isn’t easy. He can’t focus on anything that moves for more than a few minutes before his vison goes fuzzy and his head starts pounding and his stomach churns. Luke needs it all to get better a lot quicker than it is. The scans they did the first day he was here revealed there isn’t bleeding in his brain, but even still Luke wasn’t expecting it to be like this. And the doctor says it could carry on for weeks, or even months. Luke is going to go completely insane if that’s true.  
   
On his last day, he forces Michael to go home one last time – convincing him Kellin needs feeding and attention, which isn’t even a lie – but it’s mostly because there’s a neurologist coming to see Luke to answer any questions he has, and Luke doesn’t necessarily want Michael here for that. Michael doesn’t need to be more worried than he already is. There are too many unknowns, anyway, and the meeting leaves Luke even more frustrated. All the new doctor could really tell him is that they know almost nothing. How long it will take Luke to heal, what his symptoms will be, if he’ll develop new ones down the road – it’s all a big, annoying game of wait-and-see and Luke wants to throw a chair out the window by the time the doctor leaves.  
   
An hour later, the door opens, and Michael’s red hair pokes through the gap before the rest of him does. “Going home soon!” he says brightly, sounding almost as excited about it as Luke is.   
  
“I wanna go right now.”  
  
“Soon,” Michael repeats. He sits next to Luke on the bed; leans over and kisses Luke’s cheek.   
  
Luke grabs him and doesn’t let him move away, so he can slide their lips together for real. It’s been a good while since he’s gone this many days without an orgasm and Luke is itching to get out of here so Michael can coax one out of him. It won’t take long.   
  
Michael hums and kisses back. “Thinking about what we’re gonna do when I get you home?”   
  
Luke smiles. “Yes.”  
  
“You know you gotta take it easy for a while, right?”   
  
Luke bites gently at Michael’s bottom lip. “Been dreamin’ about fuckin’ this mouth for days.”  
  
Michael moans, pretty and desperate. “Oh fuck yeah.”  
  
Luke wraps his arms around Michael and pulls him closer, gets lost in it. So lost he doesn’t hear the door opening. He hears the voice, though, as it says “Uh … Lewy?”  
  
Luke freezes. His heart leaps into his throat. He knows that voice better than he knows his own. Far too late, Luke springs away from Michael and looks up, heart pounding so fast it hurts, into two sets of nearly identical blue eyes – wide and glued to Luke and Michael.  
  
“Oh my God,” Luke breathes.   
  
Michael turns, surveys who just caught them, and then turns back to Luke, looking panicked. “Are those your brothers?” he whispers – it’s useless; they can all hear him.   
  
“Fuck,” Luke mutters, burying his face in his hands. He stands up and walks a few steps away. He has no idea how to deal with this, and they’re both silent so clearly they don’t either. Luke was going to tell them eventually. He just hadn’t figured out how yet. The last way he wanted them to find out was walking in and being struck full-frontal with him making out with another guy.   
  
“I’m Michael,” Michael says eventually, breaking the tension thick silence. He sounds so nervous. Luke manages to make himself look, watching as Michael stands and goes to shake hands.   
  
“We know who you are,” Ben says, speaking for them both. He takes Michael’s outstretched hand, though. Jack does as well.   
  
“You’re really good,” Jack says.   
  
“Thank you,” Michael replies, sounding genuinely flattered. Sometimes Michael is still surprised to find out people don’t hate him. “Luke’s told me a lot about you. Which is which? Man, you guys could be triplets.”  
  
“I’m Ben. This is Jack,” Ben says, pointing accordingly.   
  
“Really good to meet you.” Michael looks back at Luke, eyebrow raised like he’s asking if Luke is okay. Luke really, really isn’t. “I. Um. I should let you guys talk.”  
  
It’s the right call. Michael doesn’t need to be here while Luke muddles his way through this. But he wants Michael to stay. Michael comes over to him, reaches out and rubs his arms comfortingly. “I’m right outside,” he says, quiet enough for only Luke to hear, and then he kisses Luke’s forehead and he’s gone.   
  
Luke can’t breathe properly. His mind races, heart still jack-hammering behind his ribcage. He’s mostly managed to convince himself he was okay with this. He’s confident about it now, even, joking with Ashton and Brendan and not minding that Carey probably knows even though they’ve never spoken about it. All that just disappeared. Luke is right back to embarrassed, humiliated; terrified that they’ll be disappointed. Or angry, or grossed out. They’re his brothers. Luke looks up to them so much, he loves them. He’ll be beyond devastated if they’re upset about this.   
  
“Luke?” Jacks voice asks softly.   
  
Luke can’t. He can’t look at them. Can’t talk to them. His palms are sweaty. This might be what having a stoke feels like. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out eventually, shaking his head quickly back and forth. He’s sorry for so many things. That they saw, for what he’s done, that he let them down. Everything is spinning and it won’t stop, and it isn’t the concussion. Terror grips Luke’s chest, feels like death clutching around his windpipe.  
  
“Fuck,” Jack swears, and then he’s hurrying across the room and grabbing Luke roughly. For just a second Luke thinks Jack is going to hit him and he flinches, but then strong arms are wrapped around him. “Breathe, kiddo. You look like you’re gonna puke.”  
  
A strangled sob rips from Luke’s throat and he clings to Jack. “I’m so sorry,” he says again. His voice sounds like his throat has been rubbed raw with steel wool.  
  
“Stop.” Jack hugs him tighter. “Nothing to be sorry for.”  
  
Ben moves toward them and then his arms are around them both.   
  
Luke’s whole body is shaking, thrumming like there are spiders under his skin. Tears burn behind his eyes. He’s still so afraid things won’t ever be the same. He’s sure he does look like he’s going to be sick, like Jack said, because that’s how he feels. “I didn’t know you were coming.”  
  
“Thought we’d surprise you,” Ben tells him. “I guess we did.”  
  
Jack laughs a little, and Luke manages a barely-there smile. They let go of him, sooner than Luke wishes they would. It’s hard to look either of them in the eye but Luke powers through it because he needs to know. They don’t look angry.   
   
“It’s okay,” Jack reassures. “Stop panicking.”  
   
Ben sits on the edge of the bed and pulls Luke there with him. “Come on. Hemmings bro sandwich, since we’ve got things to talk about.”  
  
Jack sits on Luke’s other side, and puts a casual, comforting arm around his shoulders. Luke can’t help the way he leans into it. “So, you and …?”  
   
“I was so scared you were gonna hate me,” Luke admits quietly. His cheeks feel so red. “That’s why I never …”  
   
“We’re your family,” Ben says. “We’d never hate you. How could you even think that?”  
   
Luke shrugs listlessly. “Because it’s … weird.”  
   
“This is who it was. At Christmas. Right?” Jack asks. “You were so happy. We assumed it was a girl.”  
   
“Yeah.” Luke nods and cringes. “Nothing had happened yet. Then.”  
   
“But you liked him.”  
   
Luke nods again.   
   
“And now?”  
   
“We’re … like. Together. Whatever you wanna call it. I’m sorry, this is so awkward and gross.”  
   
“It isn’t gross,” Ben says firmly. “Don’t think that either.”  
   
“I mean the situation. It’s weird. I know it’s weird. Sorry.”  
   
Jack makes a joke out of it to make Luke feel better. “I hear gay dudes give better head.”  
   
Luke groans and blushes even deeper.  
   
“Yeah, c’mon,” Ben teases, shoving Luke’s shoulder playfully. “Spill.”  
   
“I don’t … probably not all of them. But yeah, he’s … good.” Even admitting that much makes Luke squirm. “God, do we have to do this?”  
   
Jack laughs. “Okay. We won’t torture you.”  
   
“Is it … if you guys are freaked out or whatever. I get it.”  
   
“It’s … unexpected,” Jack says, being careful about it. “But it’s your life. Your dick. It doesn’t matter to us where you wanna stick it. ‘Long as the other person is down.”  
   
“Did you, like, know? For a long time?” Ben asks. “‘Cause you could’ve told us. We wouldn’t have judged or whatever, we would’ve helped you deal.”  
   
Luke shakes his head. “There were times I thought maybe, I guess. But not really. Kinda all happened this year.”  
   
“He must really be something.”  
   
“Yeah.” Luke’s lips curve themselves into a smile.   
   
“There’s that face again.” Jack pinches his cheek.  
   
“Do you love him?” Ben asks, suddenly back to serious.  
   
Luke nods. “I really do.”  
   
“Does he love you back?”  
   
“Yes. A lot.”  
   
“Good. That’s the important stuff.”  
   
“Mom and Dad are coming too,” Jack adds. “In a few hours. They were on a later flight ‘cause Dad was working today.”  
   
“Oh.”  
   
“Yeah. So. Think you’ll tell them?”  
   
Luke’s heart speeds up again. He’s not sure he can handle two reveals in one day. “Not yet.”  
   
Ben nods. “We won’t either, then. ‘Till you’re ready.”  
   
“Thank you.” Luke sniffs and wipes his nose with his sleeve.   
   
“It’s okay.” Jack gives him another little sideways hug. “Relax, alright? We love you exactly the same.”  
   
There’s a small knock at the door, and Michael sticks his head back in, looking concerned. “Everything okay in here?”  
   
Luke nods. “You can come back.”  
   
Ben stands up, but before he can say anything, Michael holds his hands up like he’s surrendering and  says, “I know. He’s your little brother, and you’ll kick my ass if I hurt him.”  
   
“More or less,” Ben agrees, but he’s smiling.  
   
“When are they discharging you?” Jack asks Luke. “Oh, and fuck, how are you, by the way? I totally forgot about that.”  
   
“I’m alright. I can’t play for a while. Possibly never again, but probably in a few weeks.” Luke swallows after he says it. He’s been trying not to think about that. “And soon. Someone has to come do like a last assessment or something, and then I can go.”  
   
“Let’s go get lunch, once they spring you,” Ben suggests. “I wanna get to know the guy who’s fucking my littlest brother.”  
   
*           *           *  
   
A new nurse makes Luke answer some math problems, repeat some tongue-twisters, and follow a pen light with his eyes. Michael stays close, even though he probably doesn’t need to. Eventually she gives him the all-clear, and Dr. Watson comes back in to give him the final run-down.   
  
“You are not to go anywhere near the ice until I say so,” she says sternly, but with a twinkle in her eye like this isn’t the first time she’s had to get formidable with a hockey player to make them follow her orders. “I’ve discussed all this with your coach, as well.”  
  
Luke nods.  
  
“I mean it. Your balance will be off for a while. If you get out there and you fall, you could be seriously injured.”  
  
“I won’t,” Luke promises.  _We’ll see,_  is what he thinks.   
  
“Expect setbacks. Reading and television are okay  _only_  if it isn’t bothering you. Get lots of rest, even during the day. Naps if you can, just lounging if you can’t. The better rested your body is, the quicker you’ll heal. And I’ve got you scheduled to be back here twice a week for therapy.”  
  
“For how long?” Luke asks impatiently.  
  
“For as long as it takes. You have minor brain damage, Luke. That’s what a concussion is. It’s very serious. We don’t want you risking anything until we’re sure you're okay.”  
  
“He’ll be here,” Michael says, swatting Luke for talking back.   
  
“You can exercise  _lightly_ ,” the doctor continues. “Easy cardio, small weights. That’s it. Nothing bouncy. Walks and bikes are okay, running isn’t. Any jarring activity could exacerbate the bruising in your brain. The trainers at the arena are going to be keeping an eye on you to make sure you listen.”  
  
“What makes you think I won’t?” Luke asks, laughing a little but protesting the lack of trust anyway.   
  
Dr. Watson eyes him, and raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Because you have that look. You all do. Itching to get back out there for your team even if it means hurting yourself.” She scribbles something on a prescription pad and hands it to him. “This is to help you sleep, but only take it if you need it. This stuff is addictive if you’re not careful. Your first appointment with the physical therapist is tomorrow. I’ll be making sure you show up.”  
  
She’s on her way out when Michael pipes up, “What about sex?”  
  
Luke’s face explodes into a blush and he glares at Michael.   
  
“Um.” Michael stutters and covers up badly. “Just asking for him. He’s a horn-dog.”  
   
Luke rolls his eyes because that is so not better.   
  
Dr. Watson looks at them, and doesn’t buy it for a second. “As long as it isn’t strenuous.”  
  
Luke can’t even meet her eye; he’s so embarrassed Michael asked.   
  
She smiles at them briefly over her shoulder, adds, “You two are very cute,” and then she’s gone.   
  
“Dude!” Luke cries, smacking Michael’s arm.   
  
Michael laughs and looks embarrassed too, but says, “Well! Don’t you think we needed to know?”  
  
“You’re a dick.”   
  
Michael laughs softer, getting in between Luke’s knees and sliding his hands up Luke’s arms. “I’m sorry. I just miss you.”  
  
Luke manages to smile. He curls his arms around Michael’s waist and pulls him in for a kiss. “I miss you too. Except first we apparently have to go for lunch with my brothers.”  
  
Michael cringes. “I’m sorry about that too. I shouldn’t have been kissing you in here.”  
  
Luke shakes his head. “It’s okay. They aren’t mad. And I don’t know, maybe it’s better this way. ‘Cause now they know. I don’t have to figure out how to tell them. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.”  
  
“What about your mom and dad?”  
  
“I don’t …” Luke sighs, and feels awful admitting, “I don’t know if I’m there yet. I’m sorry, it’s not that I don’t – ”  
  
“Shh,” Michael whispers. He kisses Luke’s forehead. “I’m the reason we were hiding in the first place, remember? It’s fine, babe. I get it. Take your time.”  
  
“Ready to go get grilled by my brothers?”  
  
“Do they hate me? I feel kinda like … I don’t know. Like I took something from you.” Michael looks worried suddenly. “Like I took something from  _them_. ‘Cause I made you into something different.”  
  
Luke shakes his head and cups Michael’s face in his hand. “You didn’t turn me, like a vampire bite. You know it doesn’t work like that. You helped me figure out who I am. That’s different. I love you, alright? So they will too.”  
  
Michael nods and takes a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s do this, then.”


	19. dix-neuf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [thanks as always to Carly for the hand-holding]

Luke suggests they try the restaurant Ashton took him to the first day he was here in Montreal; the one with the patio on the river. It’s still a little cool to sit outside but Luke remembers they have these big, kerosene heat lamps. Then he has a thought and suggests they  _bring_  Ashton, deciding on the spot it will be notably less awkward with him there. Ashton is famous, and Ben and Jack are fans of the sport so they seem receptive to the idea. They wanted to meet him anyway. Luke’s family is a little bit long-distance in love with Ashton, since he’s the one who’s been taking care of Luke since he’s been away from home.  
  
They get a table on the edge of the patio, and they’re the only ones stupid enough to sit outside in March so they’re alone. Ashton shows up only a few minutes after the rest of them, with a big smile on his face as he walks toward them. Luke stands and lets a laughing Ashton pull him into a big, warm hug. He’s so used to this now with Ashton that it feels normal; although he’s slightly aware it isn’t.  
  
“You’re out! Why didn’t you tell me that was happening today?”  
  
“It wasn’t. Michael helped me tie bedsheets together. I was only on the fourth floor, so,” Luke jokes.   
  
Ashton laughs more, but warns, “if that’s true I will carry you back there and strap you to the bed myself.”  
  
“This is Ben and Jack,” Luke says, pointing at his brothers in turn.  
  
“It’s so awesome to meet you guys, I’m Ashton!”  
  
Ben and Jack both look like Wayne Gretzky just turned up at their table. They probably would have reacted that way to Michael too, if he hadn’t been sucking on their little brother’s face the first time they saw him.  
  
“Hey.” Ben stands and shakes Ashton’s hand, and then Jack does too.  
  
Ashton sits in a wicker chair between Michael and Ben and claps his hands together. He’s so confident, and self-assured, that he just fits right in wherever he goes. Luke is jealous of him. “Did you order?”  
  
“Not yet,” Luke answers.  
  
“It’s so cool of you guys to come out!” Ashton tells Ben and Jack. Then he turns to Luke and adds, “Speaking of, I didn’t even ask. How are you?”  
  
“I’m okay,” Luke shrugs. “I had a headache earlier but it’s gone now.”  
  
“What’s supposed to happen? Like, are you all good now, or?”  
  
“Um. More headaches. A couple other things, maybe. Nothing I can’t handle.”  
  
Ashton nods. He glances around the table, finally beginning to pick up on the fact that no one but him is saying much. “What’s, uh. What’s with the vibe? Is somebody mad at somebody?”  
  
Luke fidgets. He really doesn’t want to do this, but he supposes they need to. It’s the reason they’re here. “Ben and Jack kinda … walked in on something. With. Um. Me and Michael.”  
  
“Oh.” Ashton’s eyes widen. “So they know.”  
  
“Yeah.” Luke looks at Michael – he’s never seen his boyfriend look so uncomfortable before.  
  
“So do we need to like … hash some shit out?” Ashton looks around, gauging reactions. He’s fully ready to be the mediator if that’s what they need, and Luke is so thankful for him.  
  
Ben shakes his head. “It isn’t like that. We don’t care. We wanted to get to know Michael.”  
  
Luke squirms in his seat. It shouldn’t be this awkward. He doesn’t even really know why it is.  
  
“Ask me stuff, then,” Michael pipes up – it’s the first words he’s spoken since they arrived. He sounds uncomfortable, but like he wishes he weren’t. “Whatever you wanna know.”  
  
“You love Luke?” Ben asks. It’s a test; a threat almost. He’s daring Michael to not have the courage to admit it out loud.  
  
Michael looks embarrassed, but he nods. He takes Luke’s hand on the table and squeezes it for a moment. Luke squeezes back. “I do.”  
  
“Does it suck being out? Like with the way people are, and stuff? The media?” Jack asks. It’s a much nicer question and Luke wants to hug him. Ben’s always been over-protective. It comes from being the oldest. Jack is Luke’s ally.  
  
“Sometimes,” Michael answers. “People can be shitty. It sucks when they won’t leave me alone. It sucks that sometimes people care more about who I’m sleeping with than whether I’m any good as a player. We were keeping this thing a secret so Luke wouldn’t have to deal with all that. I didn’t want him to be the next headline.”  
  
Jack looks impressed – pleasantly surprised that Michael wants to take care of Luke. Ben isn’t sold just yet, but Luke can tell he’s getting there.  
  
“Who else knows?”  
  
Luke takes this one. “Besides Ashton, Calum Hood and Brendan Gallagher. The coach. Maybe Carey Price, but we haven’t actually told him.”  
  
“You and Calum Hood are friends, right?” Jack says to Michael. “From like before you were in the NHL?”  
  
He’s fishing for more than just the actual question he asked, and Michael knows it. “More like brothers. His family took me in after my dad kicked me out.”  
  
“He’s a beast on the ice,” Ben says. “We watch all the time, he just shows up out of nowhere when someone takes a bad hit and mucks their bin.”  
  
“He’s really loyal.” Ashton chimes in, after being silent for a minute or two because the conversation steered away from the direction of his involvement. “He’s the nicest guy, off the ice, but in a game he’ll destroy you if you mess with his team.”  
  
“I bet you love guys like that,” Jack says, and Ashton agrees fervently.  
  
“He’s a great guy to have around, for sure.” Ashton reaches over and pats Michael’s arm. “And he’s the reason Michael’s here.”  
  
Michael smiles a little. Luke bumps his knee against Michael’s under the table and then he smiles more.  
  
A waitress comes over to pass out menus, and the conversation turns to food for a while. Then to the weather, then to hockey – something they can all talk about until they run out of breath. It feels easy and comfortable. Ben and Jack relax a little, but they still watch closely, observing like scientists as Michael helps Luke with the menu when the small print hurts behind his eyes, steals fries from Luke’s plate, gets angry again when the hit that put Luke in the hospital comes up. Luke tries not to stare, but he sees it happening in his brothers’ eyes – he sees the transition. They like him. Michael ceases to be some guy who does bedroom things with their brother and turns into a person they could be friends with. Ben is just as angry as Michael is about the hit, and something seems to flip in him when he realizes that. Luke sees the change in Ben’s face.  
  
“It was so dangerous,” Ben says darkly. “He should’ve been suspended for way longer. You can end careers, throwing hits to the head like that.”  
  
Luke swallows and doesn’t say out loud that it’s possible his career  _is_  over.  
  
“I wanted to fuckin’ … I don’t even know. Take my skate off and slit his throat,” Michael says.  
  
“Mom was freaking out,” Jack adds. “For a couple seconds we thought you were dead.”  
  
“So did I.” Michael looks at Luke, and then looks down at his own hands.  
  
“I’m okay, guys,” Luke reminds them. He mostly is, anyway.  
  
“An inch to the right or left and you might not have been. I’m still gonna beat Phaneuf’s ass the next time we play them,” Michael mutters mutinously.  
  
Ben and Jack share a look, eyebrows raised and meaningful things passing between their eyes, and Luke has to fight the smile from curving the corners of his lips.  
  
They eat way too much as usual but it’s really fun. Luke missed his brothers a lot more than he realized. Having them here, watching them laugh at things Michael and Ashton say, means more to Luke than he could express in words.  
  
Eventually Ben looks at his watch, and says, “Mom and Dad will be landing soon. Where should we tell them to go?”  
  
“Go pick them up, they don’t need to cab it,” Ashton suggests. “You can take my car.”  
  
Luke thinks about it for a second, and then realizes, “I don’t think we’ll all fit.” The belt in the middle back seat of Ashton’s car has been broken since Luke met him. Teammates have crammed into the old station wagon before and not worried about it, but Luke doubts his mom would be thrilled with that idea. “Why don’t we take you guys back to our place, you can relax for a while,” Luke says to Jack and Ben. “Ash and I can go get Mom and Dad.”  
  
Jack shrugs. “Sounds good to me.”  
  
Ben insists on paying when the bill comes. Luke tries not to roll his eyes. Ben likes to be in charge, probably especially now that someone who’s having sex with his little brother is at the table. It's kind of a nice gesture and a dick move at the same time.   
  
“We’ll be right there, okay? Go with Ashton.” Luke tells his brothers, as they all get up. He doesn’t really give them an opportunity to argue before he makes eye-contact with Michael and gestures for him to follow. Luke leads in the direction of the restroom, and locks the door of the disabled stall behind them.   
  
Michael raises his pierced eyebrow. “This probably isn’t the time for a quickie.”  
  
Luke laughs a little and shakes his head. “No, it’s … um. So, if my parents are coming …”  
  
“I need to go home,” Michael finishes.   
  
“I’m sorry.” Luke really is. “I don’t want you to … it’s just, while they’re here …”  
  
“I’m just your teammate. It’s fine, I understand.”  
  
“I hate this. I want to see them, I just wish I knew they were coming. So we could have a plan.”  
  
Michael steps into him. He cups Luke’s face in his hands and kisses his forehead, and then pulls him into a hug. Luke wraps his arms around Michael’s back and holds on tight. “It won’t be more than a few days. How long can they realistically hang around for? They have jobs and stuff.”  
  
“Except I wanted to take you home the second I got sprung from the hospital,” Luke murmurs, words muffled against Michael’s shoulder. He really misses Michael. He’s seen him every day, but he misses being alone with him. He misses the closeness, the way it feels when Michael kisses him and it’s a prelude to something else, the way it feels to have Michael’s warm, bare skin pressed into his own.   
  
Michael chuckles softly. He rubs his palm up and down Luke’s back slowly. “Me too. It’s okay. It’s your family. I totally get it.”  
  
“I’ll call you later, okay? Maybe I can come over for a bit. They’re gonna have to find a hotel anyway, there’s no way Ash and I have room for four of them to stay with us.”  
  
“You need to sleep,” Michael reminds him. He kisses the side of Luke’s face while he talks. Luke is taller, but he always feels small in Michael’s arms. “You’re supposed to be getting lots of rest, not sneaking over to my place in the middle of the night to not sleep. Plus there’s a practice tomorrow. Those of us without broken heads have to go to it.”  
  
Luke pouts about it a little, even though Michael can’t see him.   
  
“Call me once you’re in bed tonight,” Michael says, as a compromise. “We’ll. You know. Talk.”  
  
Luke smiles and kisses Michael’s neck. “I’ve never done that before. Over the phone.”  
  
“Me neither.”  
  
“Okay.” Luke pulls back enough to press a kiss to Michael’s lips. “I’m coming over the second they leave.”  
  
Michael laughs and kisses him back. “Go have fun with your family. Text me lots. I wanna hear how the thing goes tomorrow, at the hospital.”  
  
“I will,” Luke promises.   
  
Michael leaves in his own car, after Ben and Jack move their bags from his trunk to Ashton’s, and then Ashton drives them and Luke back to their apartment. Luke lets them in, quickly tidies up any incriminating evidence of Michael from his bedroom, and then leaves again with Ashton for the airport.   
  
“So,” Ashton begins, as they drive. “Wanna fill me in?”   
  
Luke doesn’t need to ask what he’s talking about. He runs his hands over his face. “They just showed up. I mean I’m happy to see them, don’t get me wrong, but fuck. They just got on a plane and didn’t tell me they were coming. Walked into my room at the hospital while Michael and I were making out.”  
  
“Fuck,” Ashton breathes. “That can’t have been a fun moment for anybody.”   
  
Luke groans as it comes back to him – he’d been too panicked in the moment to register it all. He leans forward and buries his face in his hands. “I was saying something about wanting to fuck Michael’s mouth when they came in,  _fuck_. Ash.”  
  
“Oh my god,” Ashton laughs.   
  
“It isn’t funny!”  
  
“It kind of is, man. Sorry.”  
  
Luke leans back in his chair and physically cringes at the memory, a displeased sound falling from his lips that’s dangerously close to a whine.   
  
“Dude, they seem fine with it,” Ashton says, trying to make Luke feel better.   
  
“Yeah, like. In theory. They don’t need to fuckin’ know about him sucking my dick.”  
  
“I don’t exactly need to know about that part either,” Ashton teases, shoving Luke’s shoulder playfully.   
  
Luke groans again. “Sorry. I’m all over the place.”  
  
“Yeah, because your brains got scrambled three days ago. It’s fine, stop worrying. They don’t seem to care. And you know I don’t.”  
  
“It’s embarrassing,” Luke mumbles.   
  
“Would you be embarrassed if it was a girl?” Ashton asks, sounding serious, and the question hits Luke at a funny angle.   
  
“I don’t know. Probably not. ‘Cause they’d be high-fiving me and shit, being all ‘yeah, get some!’ instead of us having to have a sit down to talk about it. Which is shitty. I don’t know who I’m more annoyed with, them or myself.”  
  
“You aren’t annoyed with them at all,” Ashton says matter-of-factly, reading Luke like a book, as he’s been able to since about the second week Luke was here. “You’re relieved out of your mind that they aren’t freaked out. You’re annoyed at yourself for feeling that way, because you wish you didn’t care so much what they think.”  
  
“Fuck you,” Luke replies, but he chuckles while he says it.   
  
“I’m right, aren’t I?” Ashton asks, with a satisfied smile.   
  
“How do you do that?”  
  
Ashton shrugs. “You’re my best friend. I’ve never really … I always had a lot of friends, you know? You can’t say something like this to anyone who was picked on in high school, but being popular isn’t all it’s cracked up to be either. It’s lonely sometimes. Everyone wants a piece of you but no one wants the whole thing. I’ve always had a ton of people around me but no one who ever needed me for anything more than how it made them look to be my friend.”  
  
“That sounds crappy.”  
  
“Sometimes it was okay. Sometimes it made me want a thing like what Cal and Michael have, where you know everything about each other, where it’s the two of you against the world.”  
  
“So it’s you and me against the world?”  
  
“Damn straight it is.”  
  
Luke smiles a little. “You are right, though. As irritating as that is.”  
  
“It isn’t the same, as a girl. It should be, but it isn’t. That’s not your fault, Luke. You guys are the first couple ever, you gotta remember that. In a hundred years, in the whole history of the NHL. There’s never been anyone else, it’s just you. People are always going to be weird at first. Not because they don’t like it necessarily, just because it’s noteworthy.”  
  
“I wish it wasn’t.”   
  
“One day it won’t be. Haters gonna hate,” Ashton jokes.  
  
Luke rolls his eyes. “Do  _not_  start singing that song. I will jump out of this car.”  
  
Ashton giggles. “Fine. Hater.”  
  
“You’re an idiot.”  
  
“Too bad you’re stuck with me.”  
  
*           *           *  
  
Everything Luke felt about being a little annoyed at his family for turning up unannounced disappears when he sees his mom coming down the escalator.  
  
“Baby!” she practically yells, heads turning around her, as she rushes toward them.  
  
“Hi mom!” Luke cries, his own voice coming out a lot more excited and a lot less cool than he’d intended and he doesn’t even care. Liz throws herself into his arms and Luke hugs her so tight, inhales the smell of her perfume and feels like he’s back at home.  
  
“Are you okay?” Liz fusses, pulling back and holding Luke’s face in her hands; searching his eyes like she’s looking for evidence of permanent damage in them. “How are you feeling? What did the doctor say?”  
  
“Let him breathe, honey,” Andy says.  
  
“I’m okay,” Luke tells her. She doesn’t quite look like she believes it. Worry fills her blue eyes. “Really. It’s gonna be shitty the next few weeks. Headaches and not sleeping well and I might not be able to watch TV and stuff. But I’ll be fine.”  
  
“Language!” she admonishes, but doesn’t really mean it. “We were so afraid for you. I’m never watching a game again.”  
  
“I can’t imagine.”  
  
“Can I hug my son now please?” Andy asks.  
  
“No.” Liz pulls him back in, and Luke laughs. “He’s mine.”  
  
“Group hug, then,” Andy decides, wrapping his arms around both of them.  
  
“I missed you guys,” Luke tells them.  
  
“We miss you so much,” Liz says, sounding teary. “But we’re so proud of you.”  
  
“Thanks. This is Ashton, by the way.” Luke untangles himself from his parents’ arms to introduce his roommate.  
  
“Hi,” Ashton says, with a dorky little wave.  
  
“I feel like I already know you, but it’s so nice to meet you for real!” Liz hugs him too.  
  
“Much better than just a voice,” Ashton agrees.  
  
Luke raises an eyebrow. “A voice?”  
  
“We talk on the phone. Sometimes,” Ashton tells him, smiling about it.  
  
“What?” Luke cries. “Are you serious?”  
  
“She calls me to find out how you’re doing.”  
  
Luke’s eyes widen and he stares at them. “Mom! Why didn’t you tell me? How did you even get his number? What the hell?”  
  
“Well! You never tell me how you’re doing!” Liz protests defensively, stomping her foot. “You didn’t even call after you got hurt, I had to hear about it from your coach!”  
  
“Yeah, because I was unconscious!” Luke objects. That one is entirely unfair.  
  
“Alright, you two.” Andy laughs and puts his arm around Liz. “Let’s not do this here.”  
  
“That is  _so_  not cool,” Luke mutters, but then he drops it.  
  
His family loves Ashton. Luke knew they would. They spend the rest of the afternoon together, the six of them. Luke and Ashton show his family around Montreal, all the touristy places and cool, unknown spots they’ve discovered this year. Luke wishes Michael could be here, but he has fun anyway. It feels like old times, back in Ohio, when the life Luke’s living now was just a dream too fragile to speak out loud in case it might not come true. Then it did come true, and Luke still can’t wrap his head around that sometimes.  
  
After his parents and brothers are set up in a Holiday Inn not too far from where Luke lives, he hugs them all goodbye and goes back to his apartment with Ashton. They chat for a few minutes but Luke disappears to his room quickly, remembering his promise to Michael from earlier.  
  
Michael picks up on the second ring. “Miss me already?”  
  
“Is that weird?”  
  
“Yes. What are you doing?”  
  
“Nothing. Calling you. We just got back.”  
  
“How’s the family?”  
  
“They’re good. What did you do for the rest of the day?”  
  
There are soft shuffling noises in the background, like Michael is lying down. “Went for a run. Watched Netflix. Snuggled with Kellin. Missed you.”  
  
“I haven’t seen him in so long,” Luke complains.  
  
“Soon, babe. It’s okay.” Michael pauses, and then says, “So, um. You touching yourself yet?”  
  
Luke flushes. “No. Are you?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Shit.” Luke’s stomach flips over itself. He lies down too, kicking his shoes off and falling into his bed. “Where are you?”  
  
“Bed. It feels big without you.”  
  
“So let me come over.”  
  
“If you came over neither of us would get any sleep. You need sleep. We need you getting better.”  
  
Luke rolls his eyes. “You sound like my mom. Or Ashton.”  
  
“Good. Someone needs to take care of you, if you won’t do it yourself.”  
  
Luke smiles a little, because that’s annoying, but it’s sweet. “What are you doing?”  
  
“Touching my dick. Thinkin’ about you.”  
  
Luke drags his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes closing for a moment as arousal blooms low in his gut. He wrestles the zipper down on his jeans and pushes his hand inside, rubbing himself through the soft material of his underwear. The flesh hardens under his touch.  
  
“Okay. Me too.”  
  
“That’s so hot,” Michael breathes. “Would you, um. Let me watch you? Sometime?”  
  
“Watch me jerk off?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Luke swallows thickly. It feels dangerous, for a reason he can’t identify, since they’ve already done everything else. “Yeah. Okay. You too?”  
  
“Mmhm,” Michael hums. “I bet like … I’d sit there, thinking I’ll just watch, and then after like thirty seconds I won’t be able to keep my hands off you. You’re too nice to touch.”  
  
“You are too.” Luke slides his hand into his boxers, pushing them down a little and wrapping his fingers around his cock. He strokes it slowly, wishing it was Michael’s hand instead.  
  
“Tell me what you’re thinking about?” Michael asks softly. His voice is breathy, low and right in Luke’s ear, and if he keeps his eyes closed he can pretend Michael is here.  
  
“You. Your hands on me, or your mouth, maybe. That thing you do with your tongue that drives me up the wall.”  
  
Michael laughs quietly. “I love that. Love the way you react. You make … fuck, the most beautiful noises.”  
  
“I do?”  
  
“Yeah. All soft and breathless and desperate. I love you desperate.”  
  
Luke squeezes around his cock and stretches a bit, sinking further into the soft mattress. He wants to drown in Michael’s voice. He twists his fist around the head and a small moan spills from his lips.  
  
“Do that again.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Whatever you just did. I wanna hear you moan again. Fuck, so pretty.”  
  
Luke does. He swipes his thumb over the messy slit, pressing into it, and a broken, “Michael” falls out of his mouth.  
  
“Keep going,” Michael urges. He sounds fucked out, and it’s beautiful.  
  
“Talk to me,” Luke requests.  
  
“My hand feels good but it’s nothing like yours. When you …” Michael laughs again. He sounds so  _happy_ , and Luke loves it. “When you fucked me last week? God. It was like … I don’t even know. Felt so amazing. I don’t know how you do that.”  
  
“Imagine me there,” Luke tells him, feeling brave all of a sudden. “Between your legs, my mouth on your cock. Your hands in my hair as I blow you, so good but not enough for you to come, and you wanna come so badly.”  
  
“Luke,” Michael whispers.  
  
“Not till I say so.”  
  
“Okay. Fuck.”  
  
“Put me on speaker phone.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Luke smirks to himself. “‘Cause you’re gonna need both hands.”  
  
“Oh. God, okay, hold on.” There’s a muffled noise, and then Michael’s voice is back, just a little further away now. “What am I doing?”  
  
“Lick your finger. Get it wet.” Luke speeds up his hand on his own cock just slightly, just enough to have sparks of pleasure zipping along the highways of his veins. “Then touch yourself. Don’t put it in yet, just touch first.”  
  
Michael is quiet for a minute and then he makes a small, helpless noise. “Feels good.”  
  
“Push it inside. Keep stroking your cock.”  
  
“Yeah.” Michael moans. “Luke.”  
  
“Right here, baby.”  
  
“Wish I could kiss you.”  
  
“I wanna kiss you everywhere.”  
  
“Me too.” He moans again, and Luke’s vison goes fuzzy.  
  
“Make yourself come. I wanna hear it.”  
  
The sound of Michael’s hand on his cock is quiet but Luke can hear it, and he breathes quick and ragged. He just listens, for a minute or two, and then Michael swears and groans and Luke’s eyes slam closed, the noises almost hotter  _because_ Luke can’t see. It’s like heightened senses. Luke rocks his hips up into his own fist, chasing pleasure as he listens to Michael pant. The first spurt of come on his chest takes him by surprise, the orgasm sneaking up on him and making him shiver.  
  
“Did you …?” Michael rasps.  
  
“Yeah.” Luke smiles, and then laughs. It isn’t funny, he’s just happy. “That was fun.”  
  
“That was  _hot_ ,” Michael corrects.  
  
“Same time tomorrow?”  
  
“It’s a date. Go to sleep, okay? I love you.”  
  
“Love you back.”


	20. vingt

Other than missing Michael, Luke loves his family being around. He can’t play or practice anyway, so outside of his trip to the hospital the next day, he doesn’t have much to do so having them here helps distract him. They’re all crazy about Ashton. Luke knew they would be. It’s nearly impossible not to love Ashton. Luke hasn’t met a person yet who’s managed it. Luke had never really realized how much time they all spend at the arena until he isn’t allowed to be there anymore. He supposes on some level he was aware that they spend nearly all day every day either practicing or working out together or in team meetings or playing games, but it’s so stark now that he isn’t involved in any of those things. Ashton leaves the apartment early in the morning and doesn’t return until it’s nearly time for supper. If Luke was alone he’d be bored out of his skull, so he’s grateful for his family.  
   
They stay for the rest of the weekend. Like at Christmas, most of the time Luke is too busy to notice how much he misses them. Now that they’re here, part of him never wants them to leave. Once or twice, Luke even considers saying the hell with it and bringing Michael over, spilling the secret, so he can have everyone he loves all in one room. He’d like them to know. He’d like to be able to kiss Michael in public and not have it be news-worthy. He doesn’t, though. Not yet. That time will come, but it isn’t now.  
  
Ashton gets a ride to the rink with Calum the next day, so Luke and his family can have a car. Luke insists he doesn’t need to but Ashton waves him off in a  _don’t be stupid_  way and then he’s gone. Liz takes Luke to the hospital just before lunch, and it’s more or less what Luke was expecting – gentle exercises and stretching with a physical therapist, meant to improve any regressions in his cognitive function, and then a neurologist comes to teach Luke how to calm his brain down, like meditation, so he can rest it enough to promote healing. Luke feels ridiculous doing any of it. He wants to just rub some damn dirt in it and get back out on the ice. Every second he’s away from his team is a second he’s letting them down.  
   
Later that afternoon, Luke gets dizzy at a restaurant for no reason, but suddenly the lights are too bright and the ambient noise is like the constant roar of explosions and Luke can’t see properly. Liz panics, and the others look worried, and Luke hates being fussed over. Maybe it’s stupid but a big part of him really believed he was going to be completely fine, that he’d have no lingering symptoms at all, and he’s so frustrated it isn’t proving true. He wants to scream about it, but he can’t because pretending it isn’t so bad is probably the only thing keeping his mom from completely losing it and deciding to stay forever. At night his neck aches, and his mind races, and the stupid breathing exercises the doctor gave him don’t work at all. Luke misses Michael.  
   
The day his family is scheduled to leave, his parents find Luke in the kitchen, pushing the newspaper away because the tiny black script on dark grey paper is making his eyes burn.  
   
“So,” Andy begins, sitting down at the table next to Luke. He makes eye contact with Liz across the room, and Luke’s stomach twists into a knot.   
  
“Oh God, what?” It’s never a good sign when they share that look. All sorts of things run through Luke’s head – mostly he’s thinking Jack or Ben cracked and his parents know about Michael. Luke loves his parents. He’s nearly positive they’ll accept him for who he is. He just isn’t ready to deal with it right now. Not on top of everything else. He isn’t ready to walk around knowing his father is aware of what he does in private with another boy. Luke cringes inside just thinking about it.  
  
“We should talk about the thing no one wants to bring up, before we go,” Andy continues, and Luke feels sick. He’s sure he has a cartoon look of terror on his face right now; eyes the size of dinner plates.  
  
“Um. I didn’t …” Luke stammers, unsure of where the aborted sentence was even heading before it derailed.  
  
“You have a lot of options, you know? I know it seems like this is the only thing you were ever meant to do, but there are other things out there, kiddo. If you have to, you’ll just find something else. We’ll help you.”  
  
For just half a second Luke gets furious at what it sounds like his dad is suggesting, because there’s no way in  _hell_  he’s giving up Michael so his parents can help him find a pretty girl and a white picket fence and 2.5 kids, and then he realizes that doesn’t make sense. “Wait. What?”  
   
“If you can’t play anymore.”  
  
“Oh. Oh!” Luke isn’t at all cool about it.  
  
Liz frowns and sits too. “What did you think we were talking about?”  
  
“Just. Nothing. Something else. Never mind.” Luke shakes his head, and tries to switch topics in his brain. “Um. No, I’ll be fine. People recover from this all the time, you know?”  
  
Luke’s been trying really hard to convince himself of that the last few days. So far he’s failing spectacularly and defaulting to not thinking about it.   
  
“They do. And you probably will, honey,” Liz says, gentle and mom-like. She reaches across the table and takes Luke’s hand. “You just need to be prepared. In case.”  
  
Luke swallows over the lump that rises in his throat. He pulls his hand out of hers. “There is no ‘in case’. This is what I was supposed to do. Okay? I’m a hockey player. That’s it. So I just have to get better. I will. Mi– my team is gonna help me.”  
  
“Baby, that’s what we want to. We’re so proud of you. Watching you out there just makes us so happy. But …” Liz sends another worried look in Andy’s direction.   
  
“But what?” Luke asks, defensive. He isn’t angry with them. He’s just scared out of his mind of all the what-ifs, and doesn’t want to talk about it.  
  
“But nothing.” Andy decides, thankfully, to drop it. “You’re right. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”  
  
“Yeah. Okay.” Luke gets up and leaves; goes to join his brothers and Ashton. He feels badly about his snippy tone, and even worse about the fact that he isn’t the only one terrified of what’s going to happen if he never gets better. It’s just way too much. Luke has been dealing with it all by pretending it isn’t happening. He isn’t ready to jump out of denial just yet.  
  
He wedges himself between Ashton and the arm of the couch and watches the animated video game unfolding on the split screen. Then it hurts to watch, so he closes his eyes.  
  
“You okay?” Ashton asks softly, his voice hidden under the racket of Jack and Ben yelling so only Luke can hear.   
  
Luke nods, but Ashton can tell he isn’t.  
  
“Later?”  
  
“Yeah,” Luke whispers. He probably won’t talk about it later. Not even to Ashton.  
   
When they’re leaving, Luke regrets snapping at his parents. They’re just trying to take care of him. He hugs them both extra tight at the airport. Then he hugs Ben and Jack even tighter. He doesn’t want them to leave anymore. It might be another few long months before he can see them again, and Luke was never any good at existing for too long without any of them, but especially his brothers. They’ve been his compass for his entire life. Luke needs them now, and they’re so far away.  
  
“Call me when you land,” Luke tells them, giving his mom the tenth hug of the last hour.   
  
“Call me after your appointment tomorrow,” Liz counters – refusing to be out-Mom-ed.   
  
“I will. Don’t worry, okay? I’m fine.” It isn’t as true as Luke promises.  
   
“You’re gonna be,” Ben says. “Nothing can keep a Hemmings off the ice for too long.”  
   
Liz and Andy go to check their bags, and Ben cuffs Luke on the shoulder.  
   
“Have fun with Michael. Put a wrapper on it, though.”  
   
“It’s not like they’ll get pregnant,” Jack points out.  
   
Luke blushes. “You guys are really okay with it?”  
   
Jack shrugs. “Of course. It’s not even a question, man. You’re our brother.”  
   
Luke nods and presses his lips together to hide his smile. “Thanks.”  
   
“We’re family.” Jack gives him one more sideways squeeze.  
   
Luke watches his family line up for security and stays until they round a corner and he can’t see him anymore. Then he gets into a cab and goes home, missing them already. They took one of those cabs that’s actually a mini-van to get here, since they wouldn’t all fit in Ashton’s car, and also since Luke feels bad about accosting it from him for the last few days.  
  
Ashton smiles at him the second Luke walks through the door. Luke was listening to the last few minutes of the game they played tonight on the radio in the cab; Ashton must have arrived here only moments before he did. “Hey! We won tonight, if you wanna hear about the game for like eight seconds before you run over to Michael’s.”   
  
Luke laughs and blushes. “I know you did. Shut up. Is it that obvious?”  
  
Ashton shrugs. “To me, it is. Okay, but get this.” He starts describing a particularly spectacular goal Brendan scored, but Luke isn’t listening, and eventually Ashton rolls his eyes and says, “Oh my God, never mind. Just go already.”  
  
Luke throws a lewd gesture in his direction but listens, bolting out the door. Halfway down the hall, he briefly reconsiders, because Ashton just spent every spare minute for a whole weekend with the Hemmings family when he definitely didn’t have to. Luke goes back, ignoring Ashton’s confused expression when he walks back through the door and pulling Ashton into a hug.   
  
Ashton laughs breathlessly; Luke knocked the wind out of him a little. “What are you doing?” he asks, but he automatically hugs back.  
  
“Thank you,” Luke tells him.   
  
“For what?”  
  
“Literally everything. Everything you’ve done since I got here. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”  
  
Ashton laughs again, sparkly as usual, but hugs a little tighter before Luke lets him go. “You don’t need to thank me, but you’re welcome. Now get lost, I’m sick of you. Have fun.”  
  
Luke smiles at him and takes off again.   
  
“And be careful! You’re still hurt!” Ashton yells after him. Luke was expecting that. He isn’t necessarily planning on following that advice.   
   
He’s flushed and sweating by the time he gets to Michael’s door, knocking on it quickly and forgetting until just this moment that he didn’t call first. Maybe he should have. Mostly Luke doesn’t care. The door opens, and Michael blinks twice and then he’s grabbing Luke and pulling him inside. Luke laughs as Michael tugs him roughly through the door and then swears as he remembers.  
   
“Fuck!” Michael cries, his hands falling instantly off Luke’s arms. “I’m sorry, are you okay?”  
   
“Yes,” Luke tells him. “Don’t be stupid. God, I missed you.” He closes the distance between them again, wrapping his arms around Michael and kissing him.  
   
Michael kisses back and it feels like finding water after a week in the desert. His lips are soft and insistent and they taste just like Luke remembered; his hands burn like an iron when they slip under his shirt and cup his bare hips. Luke can never get enough of Michael’s hands on him. He licks along the seam of Michael’s lips, asking Michael to let him in – instantly dizzy and desperate in the best possible way, so quick he should probably be ashamed of his lack of self-control but there’s time to worry about that later. Or never. Michael pulls back just an inch, though, resting his forehead against Luke’s when Luke tries to chase after his mouth.  
   
“Just, hold off a second,” Michael chuckles. “Really, how are you?”  
   
“I’m fine.”  
   
“Luke.”  
   
Luke sighs. “I’m … a few headaches. I tried to read a billboard yesterday and my vision went all fuzzy. Stuff like that, stuff they said would happen. It’s fine.”  
   
“I went crazy without you,” Michael says softly. He brushes his fingertips along Luke’s cheek lovingly. “I wanted to be there, in case things got bad.”  
   
“They didn’t,” Luke promises him. He nudges a foot between Michael’s, bringing their hips closer.  
   
“How’s your family?”  
   
“Can I please tell you later?”  
   
“You can’t wait two minutes?”  
   
“I … yeah. I guess.”  
   
Michael frowns – Luke feels it rather than sees it. He cups Luke’s face in his hands and kisses him softly. “What’s wrong?”  
   
Luke shakes his head and swallows thickly. “Just. I was talking with my dad this morning, about like, what I’m gonna do if – if I can’t play again. And I … he meant well. But I can’t …”  
   
“I know,” Michael whispers. “I know you’re scared. You don’t have to say it.”  
                                           
“I just need you, okay? I don’t wanna think about it.”  
   
Michael nods. He takes Luke’s hand and squeezes it, and leads him to the bedroom. Vaguely Luke wonders where Kellin is, and wants to say hello to him and pick him up and scratch behind his ears, but later. Michael pushes Luke gently onto the bed and strips them both. His lips slide along Luke’s skin, so slow and soft and purposeful. He undoes Luke with kisses and touches, more tenderly than he needs to. He’s afraid of hurting Luke, and it isn’t necessary but it makes Luke’s heart feel like it’s swelling in his chest. Michael mouth is so perfect wrapped around him, tight and warm and wet, and Luke missed this so much he has to fight not to rock his hips up into Michael’s mouth, chasing the ending impatiently. Michael holds him down, fingers pressing bruises into Luke’s hips, while his tongue flutters against the underside of Luke’s cock and Luke gasps and moans and can’t do anything but lie there and let Michael ruin him.  
   
Michael lies close, later, pressed against Luke’s side, while Luke wills his breathing to slow back to normal. Michael kisses his cheek. Luke reaches up and slides his fingers through Michael’s hair. Dark blond roots are starting to come in. He’ll need to dye it soon. Luke wonders if Michael would let him help.   
  
“What now?” Michael asks softly. He’s so hard, Luke can feel it pressing into his hip. A year ago, he’d have never thought he would like the way that feels, but he does. He likes knowing Michael’s turned on, likes knowing he did that to someone.   
  
“Fuck me.” Luke tilts his head back to slide his lips against Michael’s.   
  
Michael shivers a little, but says, “we aren’t supposed to.”  
  
“We can if it’s slow,” Luke argues. “That’s what the doctor said.”  
  
“You’re getting headaches. I don’t wanna make it worse,” Michael murmurs. He trails his nose along Luke’s face, and Luke can hear the love in Michael’s words. It makes his chest feel tight.   
  
“You won’t. I miss you.”  
  
“I’m right here.”  
  
“I know. I miss you … like that.”  
   
Michael nods. “Me too. Easy, though, okay?”  
  
“So, not a crazy frenzy with  _We Like It Loud_  on repeat,” Luke jokes.   
  
Michael chuckles fondly. “That time was awesome. But no, definitely not.”  
  
Luke kisses him lightly. “Okay. You win, for now.”  
  
“Damn straight.” Michael kisses back. “I love you.”  
  
“Me too.”  
   
“Don’t get hurt again, okay? You scared me.”  
   
“I’m sorry.”  
   
Michael shakes his head. “Don’t need to be sorry. Just don’t do it again.”  
   
Luke smiles a little and doesn’t bother pointing out that it won’t exactly be his choice if it happens again. Michael knows. “Okay. I promise.”  
   
*           *           *  
   
The team goes on a road trip a few days later and Luke isn’t allowed to join them. He hoped the coach would let him tag along, and watch the games from the press box, but he won’t. Probably that’s a good thing – yesterday for the first time Luke tried to watch the game his team played against the Blackhawks, from high above the ice in the box where the announcer sits, and the quick movement and busy array of colors and sounds nearly split his head open and he had to leave halfway through – but he’s still bummed out. It’s stupid, but Luke hasn’t ever been alone here before for any significant amount of and he feels a little lost at the idea. He doesn’t know what he’s even going to do for four days.   
  
“Call me if anything happens,” Michael says. He doesn’t want to leave either. He’s worried Luke’s will relapse and he won’t be here to help.   
  
“I’ll be fine,” Luke promises. It isn’t a promise he can realistically make, but it’s what Michael needs to hear.  
  
“What if you aren’t?”   
  
“I’ll go to the hospital.”  
  
“You swear?”  
  
“Oh my god,” Brendan groans from the couch. “When did you two get so fuckin’ gay?”  
  
Ashton swats him, and not lightly. “Hey! That’s offensive, dick.”  
  
“I say it with love.”  
  
Michael rolls his eyes but Luke smiles. He loves his friends. He kisses the tip of Michael’s nose, mostly for the grossed-out noise Brendan makes.   
  
“You guys better win without me.”  
  
“How possibly could we?” Ashton cries dramatically.   
  
Luke ignores him. “You are  _not_  allowed to fight someone else in place of Phaneuf,” he tells Michael, and then looks over Michael’s shoulder at Calum and adds, “you either.”  
  
The team will be in Toronto on Saturday to face the Leafs. The player who hit Luke is still suspended but Luke can see both his friends taking their anger out on anyone in a blue sweater who’s willing to engage.   
  
“Am I allowed to fight Phaneuf when he comes back?” Calum asks.   
  
Luke smirks. “Maybe.”  
  
“Fuck maybe!” Brendan says. “He put our top goal-scorer out of commission. He needs to die.”  
  
“He probably didn’t actually mean to,” Ashton points out, being the cooler head as always.   
  
“So maybe I won’t  _mean_  to put my fist through his face,” Calum mutters. “Maybe it will be an accident.”  
  
Luke shakes his head and Michael grins sort of at Calum – enjoying his best friend being protective of his boyfriend. Luke can’t say he isn’t enjoying it too. It makes him feel like he belongs.   
  
“We have to be at the airport soon,” Ashton says, looking at his watch. He gets up, and goes to collect his bag. Brendan and Michael already have their things, they came over with them, but Calum retreats across the hall to his own apartment and returns a few moments later in a light grey suit, with a black Nike duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Ashton emerges from his room in similar fashion.   
  
Luke really, really likes Michael in a suit and tie. He’s seen it so many times already, on every game day and every airplane ride, but he never gets over it. The traditional garment clashes so brashly with Michael’s hair and piercings and general demeanor, but it works together in beautiful, unlikely symmetry.   
  
“Call me every day,” he tells Michael, pulling him into a kiss by the lapels of his fitted black suit jacket but keeping it brief for their friends’ benefit.   
  
“I will. Take care of yourself.” It’s well wishes but also a warning. Michael doesn’t necessarily trust that Luke will be careful.  
   
Luke goes over to Michael’s apartment as soon as his friends are gone, figuring if he’s going to be alone anyway he might as well keep Kellin company. There’s a car in the parking lot of Michael’s building that looks way too much like Michael’s dad’s car for Luke’s liking. It’s the same model, the same color. Luke can’t tell if anyone is sitting in it. He doesn’t hang around long enough to get a closer look and determine for sure, he just high-tails it up to Michael’s place and deadbolts the door behind him. Kellin mewls at him, weaving his small body in between Luke’s feet, and Luke scoops the kitten up in his arms and kisses the top of his head.  
   
“I’ll keep you safe, okay?” he whispers. “Promise.”  
   
He finds a heavy frying pan in the kitchen and holds it in one hand and Kellin in the other, searching all the closets and the shower stall with his heart thumping in his chest. The apartment is empty, and then Luke feels stupid for even thinking it wouldn’t be. Michael’s dad is a piece of work but he isn’t crazy enough to break in here and hide in a closet. At least, Luke hopes he wouldn’t. Even still, he wedges a chair underneath the doorknob and locks all the windows – irrational since they’re on the tenth floor and Michael’s dad isn’t Batman, but it makes him feel safer. He spends the night playing with Kellin and keeping one eye on the door, just in case. He doesn’t tell Michael, when he phones. He hopes Michael can’t hear anything strange in his voice. It probably wasn’t even the same car, Luke is probably just being stupid and paranoid. Maybe it’s the head-wound. Luke likes that explanation a whole lot better than any other ones. He likes it better than thinking Michael’s dad sits outside Michael’s building and waits for him. Luke is really scared of what it means if he does.


	21. vingt et un

Luke starts getting headaches almost every single day. It doesn’t always happen at the same time and doesn’t seem related to anything he can figure out. His head just bursts into splitting pain now and then, the kind that makes him see spots and feel like he’s going to be sick. Sometimes it last for five minutes, sometimes longer. Sometimes it last for hours, and leaves Luke weak and shaky and just wanting to cry because he’s so discouraged. Luke was warned about everything, all of this, but he stupidly thought he’d be the exception. He thought he’d just bounce back, heal up, and be back on the ice in a few days. He belongs out there with his team, and it eats him up inside that he can’t be.  
   
If he’s with Michael when the headaches hit, he lets Luke lie with his head cradled on Michael’s lap and rubs it, massaging his scalp with gentle fingers. Michael worries all the time, way more than Luke does, and Luke sees it wearing him out. That’s almost the worst part. Luke can see what this is doing to him – to  _them_ , all of them. It isn’t just Michael. It’s Ashton too, and Calum, and Brendan, and Luke’s mom. She calls every day, and eventually Luke just stops answering. He can’t hear her voice anymore, it upsets him too much. Ashton’s taken to answering Luke’s phone when Liz’s number pops up on the call display, and telling her in a gentle voice that Luke is fine but can’t talk right now. Luke doesn’t know what he’d do without Ashton. Without any of them.  
   
“You don’t have to,” Luke tells Michael one night, eyes squeezed shut in agony and praying Michael won’t actually stop because his fingers in Luke’s hair are the only thing that keeps the ache dull enough to be bearable. When Michael isn’t around to do this, the headaches make Luke feel like screaming.  
   
“Shh,” Michael soothes. He leans down and kisses Luke’s temple, then leaves his lips there.  
   
After a minute he moves, helping Luke up and leading him to the bedroom. Luke’s head hurts so much he can barely see. He trusts Michael to take care of him. Michael gently pulls Luke’s shirt over his head and pushes his jeans down to the floor, holding Luke’s hands while Luke steps out of them so he doesn’t topple over. He lies Luke down on his stomach, and sits on the backs of his thighs. His hands slide up Luke’s bare back, pressing into tense muscles. Luke groans in appreciation, and finally relaxes as Michael’s fingers work the kinks from his back. Michael dips down to press kisses along Luke’s spine, and rubs Luke’s shoulders until the pain in his head subsides. Then he lets Luke curl up in his arms and doesn’t care that there are tears in Luke’s eyes.  
   
“I know,” he whispers, even though Luke said nothing. He keeps one hand cupped around the back of Luke’s neck, squeezing lightly.  
   
“I’m scared, Michael,” Luke admits tearfully. His eyes stay closed. He can’t see Michael’s face right now and keep the remaining threads of his composure. “I’m not anything without hockey.”  
   
“Yes you are. You’re so many things, you just don’t know it.” Michael kisses the wetness on Luke’s cheeks. “But you won’t have to find out, okay? I promise. You’re gonna be fine.”  
   
Luke wishes he could believe that as strongly as Michael does.  
   
Eventually he’s allowed back in the weight room at the arena. The trainers watch him like snipers, always with at least one eye on him, making sure he’s following the doctor’s orders and taking it easy. Luke doesn’t even want to bother. It’s so nerve-wracking, doing anything with someone staring, that he doesn’t enjoy being back in the place he’s come to view as his second home. His teammates are happy to see him, but even that doesn’t feel good. Max and Carey give him brief, manly hugs and others clap Luke on the shoulder and welcome him back, and Luke bites the insides of his cheeks while he forces a smile. Ashton gives him sad eyes from across the room. He can always tell when something is wrong, but they both know he can’t help this time. Luke just needs to fast forward his life a month to when he’s better, but he can’t.  
   
He isn’t allowed on the ice but he wants to be at the practice on Wednesday, just to be around his team. He’s hoping it will be distracting. And it is, until they leave the ice and head into the media room to watch footage from their last game. The TV is huge and so noisy, and the shapes and colors fly around it so quickly it makes Luke dizzy. He tries to blink it away, to will the blur out of his eyes and bring the screen back into focus. He doesn’t want to make a scene, for people to feel sorry for him. Then someone on the screen gets body-checked into the boards and the loud crunch hurts like Luke is the one who just got hit. He makes a pathetic, whimpery sound, fully out of his own control, and staggers out of the room into the hallway. The world around him spins and his heart races so quickly he might be on the verge of emptying the contents of his stomach all over the floor. It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened.  
   
Half a second later Michael and Calum are in front of him, Michael grabbing Luke’s arms roughly to keep him from slipping to the floor as he curls in on himself, and Calum yelling loudly for help. The noise might as well be knives on Luke’s skin.  
   
“No,” Luke mumbles. “M’fine.”  
   
“Shut up,” Michael says, sounding scared.  
   
The rest is a blur until Luke’s headache goes away, of hands touching him and helping him walk. Somebody shines a flashlight in his eyes, and it hurts like the time Luke burned himself on an iron he didn’t realized was still hot. Then he’s in a car – somebody driving him home and helping him upstairs – and when the agony finally fades away Luke is in his bed with Ashton sitting on the end of it and Michael on the floor against the door, knees tucked up into his chest, looking small and helpless. Michael’s eyes are red like he’s been crying. Luke can’t make out much of Ashton since his face is in profile, but he looks exhausted. His jaw is clenched, that much Luke can tell. A muscle works in it as he sits there.  
   
“I’m sorry,” Luke says softly.  
   
“Please don’t be.” Ashton reaches out and gently pats Luke’s hip. He looks at Luke, then, and his eyes are shiny too.  
   
“I’m freaking everyone out.”  
   
“It isn’t your fault,” Ashton insists.  
   
Michael walks closer on his knees and sits next to the edge of the mattress instead, taking Luke’s hand and squeezing it and saying nothing. He’s just as scared as Luke is. He just won’t say it.  
   
It carries on for a long time, until Luke is bitter and angry and so frustrated he wants to bash his own head in just to put himself out of his misery. He doesn’t even like being around himself anymore, he can’t fathom how any of his friends are continuing to put up with him. He starts snapping at people for no reason at all sometimes, and the people who love him just take it in stride like it doesn’t bother them. Luke hates himself for it later, but can never help it. He’s just mad, and scared, and unhappy. He’s quickly losing hope it will ever be different. Maybe this is just his life now. He’s just the guy who was a hockey star for five minutes and now is a permanent head-case. Nobody will even remember him for anything decent, either. They won’t remember his years in Junior, when he was the up-and-comer and all anyone could talk about. They won’t remember that he’s leading all rookies in points this year, and has been for nearly the whole season. They’ll only remember how he went out. That one hard check took him down. He’ll be a sad story.  
   
And then, all at once, it just stops. TV screens don’t hurt to look at anymore, his head stops pounding, he can sleep without the pills. Out of nowhere, everything that’s been grinding him down for weeks is just gone.    
   
“These look really good,” Dr. Watson says, holding Luke’s latest brain scans up to the light and squinting. “The swelling has gone down.”  
   
Luke raises his eyebrows. “What does that mean?”  
   
“When was the last time you had a headache?” she asks.  
   
“Like two weeks,” Luke answers. It’s a bit of an exaggeration, but he has gone from having them sometimes three times a day to not having one in at least a week and a half, so it’s a vast improvement. Mostly, Luke is just itching for someone to tell him whether he can play or not. If he can’t, he’d rather hear it sooner than later because the anxiety is killing him. If he can, he wants to do it right the hell now because there’s only a few games left in the regular season and Luke needs to be out there with his teammates, fighting alongside them for a playoff spot. They’ve done well without him but every day he has to miss, Luke feels like he’s letting them all down.  
   
Dr. Watson turns her squinting eyes to Luke instead, examining his face like she’s trying to suss out if he’s telling the truth. Luke tries to look honest. “Okay,” she says eventually. “If that’s true, I’m comfortable clearing you.”  
   
Luke blinks at her and doesn’t understand what that means for a few seconds. He knows the individual words, but put together in that order, it’s too good to hope for and Luke is so tired of getting his hopes us only to have them slashed. “I – are you serious?”  
   
“If I was kidding would you come back here after hours and murder me with a skate blade?” she asks wryly, possibly only half joking about that. Luke hasn’t been subtle about how badly he wants to skate again, not for one minute.  
   
Luke smiles. “I feel like you want me to say no.”  
   
“ _Yes_ , I’m serious. But for practice only, for now.”  
   
“Holy shit,” Luke says. It feels like he’s been walking around for weeks with a suit of armor on, the kind made of iron that weighs a hundred pounds, and it just lifted off and he can breathe again. Luke wants to jump up on the examination table and dance around, he’s so happy. If he was alone, he probably would. And he wants to call Michael. “Awesome. Okay. Fuck. That’s awesome.”  
   
“You can  _practice_ ,” the doctor repeats, as Luke jumps up and starts getting his things together and isn’t listening to her anymore. “Low intensity, absolutely no contact. It will be a bit still until you can play for real.”  
  
“Okay. Thank you.”  
  
“Luke,” Dr. Watson says exasperatedly, lightly grabbing a handful of his t-shirt to stop Luke from dashing out the door while she’s stuck mid-sentence. “The boy with the tattoos can wait five minutes. I need you to listen to me.”  
  
“I am. No games. No contact.” He manages not to be embarrassed at all that she knows about him and Michael. It doesn’t matter right now. The only thing that matters is that he can play again. Not today, but soon. Luke wants to rent a sky-writer. “I hear you.”  
  
“The risk of re-injury is very high, still. You have to be careful.”  
  
“I will. I promise. The, uh. The boy with the tattoos will make sure of it.”  
   
“I’m sure he will.”  
   
Luke bounces on the balls of his feet by the door so Dr. Watson just sighs and waves him off.  
   
“Okay, go ahead.”  
   
“Thank you!” Luke calls over his shoulder, already halfway gone.  
   
Luke dials Michael’s number the second he leaves the hospital. He doesn’t even know if Michael will answer – the team is away again, in Alberta this time to play the Flames and the Oilers back-to-back, and they’re coming back today but for all Luke knows the plane could already be in the air. Michael does answer, though, on the second ring.  
   
“Hi!” he says brightly. “We won. I scored.”  
   
Luke laughs and it feels like a really good full-body stretch after a long nap. It’s been a long time since he’s laughed. He’d been watching the game earlier, but had to turn it off to go to his appointment. “That’s awesome! I’ll have to watch the replay. Are you at the airport?”  
   
“Why does your voice sound weird? You sound happy, why are you happy?” Michael asks quickly.  
   
“Um.” Luke presses his lips together, failing to contain the smile that wants to split his face in two. “I just got done at the hospital. I, um. I can play.”  
   
Michael pauses for a moment, and then cries, “What?”  
   
“Well, just practice, actually, for now. But I’m good, I’m better. The headaches stopped and stuff, right? The doctor thinks I’m okay. They’re gonna let me play again. Michael. Michael, I can play again.” Luke knows he’s babbling. He can’t help it.  
   
Michael just makes a loud, excited noise, and then yells, “Oh my God!”  
   
“What the hell, Clifford?” a voice snaps in the background. It sounds like maybe P.K.  
   
“Luke’s been cleared to practice!”  
   
Somebody cheers loudly, and someone else tells him to shut up too. Luke can’t stop smiling. “Dude, where are you?”  
   
“At the airport!” Michael says. “Everyone’s so stoked!”  
   
“Stop yelling, you’re gonna piss off all the other passengers.”  
   
“You think I give a fuck?” Michael shouts even louder.  
   
“Would you stop?” a voice demands, and then there are scratchy noises like someone is wrestling the phone off Michael, and Calum’s voice says, “Hemmings!”  
   
“Hood!” Luke answers with a laugh.  
   
“We’re so happy you’re better! But Mikey is gonna get us thrown in airport jail so I’m confiscating his phone until we’re on the plane.”  
   
“Cal, I swear to God,” Michael mutters in the background.  
   
“I fully support you not getting thrown in airport jail,” Luke chuckles.  
   
“We’ll see you in a couple hours, okay? We’ll congratulate you properly.”  
   
“Okay. Somebody tell Therrien, alright?” Luke asks. “I wanna be at practice tomorrow.”  
   
“You bet. We’ll see you soon!”  
   
Calum hangs up, and Luke is only slightly bummed he didn’t get to say goodbye to Michael. Mostly he’s excited out of his mind that everything is going to turn out alright. He calls his family, and gets similarly enthusiastic reactions from his parents and brothers. Luke smiles so much his cheeks feel like they’re going to fall off. Then he calls for a cab, and distracts himself while he’s waiting for his teammates by running around Michael’s apartment with a length of yarn in his hand, laughing as Kellin chases after him.  
   
Luke heads back to his own place after a while, and twenty minutes later loud voices and footsteps in the hallway let Luke know his friends are on their way a few seconds before the door swings open. He stands up, grinning, met with the slightly surprising sight of Brendan grinning back. It isn’t who Luke was expecting, but he’s happy to see anyone.  
   
“The Golden Child is gonna live!” Brendan yells. “Alert the villagers!”  
   
Luke laughs and shrugs exaggeratedly. “Hopefully!”  
   
“Move!” Michael demands, shoving Brendan out of the way. “He’s my God-damn boyfriend, I get to hug him first!”  
   
He jogs over and half a second later Michael is pulling Luke into his arms and squeezing him tight.  
   
“Hi,” Luke giggles, uncontrollably happy.  
   
“What did they say?” Michael asks.  
   
“Just what I told you. That I can practice. No contact.”  
   
“Yeah, no contact,” Calum jokes.   
   
“This is my apartment and they can contact all they want,” Ashton says. “I mean, as long as they keep their pants on.”  
   
Michael ignores them. He holds Luke’s face in his hands and kisses the corner of his mouth. “I’m so happy for you.”  
   
“Okay, time’s up, red-head.” Ashton pushes in between them and takes his turn hugging Luke. “This is so good. I can stop pretending everything is gonna be okay now, ‘cause it actually is.”  
   
“You were pretending?” Luke doesn’t point out that Ashton wasn’t doing a particularly good job of it.  
   
“We all were,” Calum says. “What were we supposed to say, yeah, your career might be over in your first year, that really sucks? That wouldn’t have helped shit. But we were all worried, man.”  
   
“Oh.” Luke swallows and tries not to let himself feel that too deeply. Everything turned out alright, so it’s over anyway.   
   
“We should celebrate!” Brendan cries.  
   
“We have to be at practice first thing in the morning and it’s after midnight,” Ashton points out.   
   
“Okay so, we should celebrate softly then. Beer and Netflix.”  
   
“Luke isn’t supposed to drink yet.”  
   
“Will you stop poking holes in this?” Brendan demands, shoving Ashton lightly. “The dude had his head busted up and we weren’t sure he was ever going to play again and now he can, this merits a party! Even if it’s a quiet, lame one.”  
   
Carey and Nathan come up, after Brendan calls and pesters them to attend what he dubs the gentlest party of all time. They both have big smiles and pats on the back for Luke. He isn’t supposed to drink yet, like Ashton said, so he has a Coke while the rest of them crack open Molsons and Brendan puts  _The Interview_  on Ashton’s big TV.  
  
“This movie is stupid,” Nathan complains.   
  
“This movie is gold. James Franco is a comedic genius,” Brendan argues. “You’re stupid.”  
   
Nathan grumbles audibly about it but doesn’t press the issue. They don’t really watch it anyway. They sit around and talk and laugh, the others telling Luke about the game he missed earlier, and making predictions on how many goals Luke’s going to rack up between now and the end of the season, now that he’ll be back soon. Luke smiles so much his cheeks hurt, but this time it’s a really, really good kind of pain. It’s the kind he never wants to end.  
   
Michael sits close to Luke on the couch, and when there’s a lull in the conversation, Carey, from across the room, glances between them pointedly and then raises his eyebrows in question at Luke. Luke’s too happy to care about hiding anymore, and he already figured Carey knew anyway, so he just presses his lips together and nods subtlety. Carey nods too, understanding, and then looks down at his own lap and sort of smiles to himself, like he’s glad to finally know for sure. It makes warmth spread to Luke’s extremities. A moment later, when Michael’s hand drifts over to Luke’s thigh for a second, rubbing his thumb along the seam of Luke’s jeans before falling away, Luke catches Carey’s dark eyes again, and their net-minder smiles for the second time; affectionately. He looks happy for them. Luke spent years hearing about what a good guy Carey is before he ever got here, and finding out first-hand it’s the truth means more to him than he’d ever have the confidence to say out loud.  
   
Eventually Carey and Nathan take off, groggily announcing that they need sleep. Ten minutes later there’s a soft snore from somewhere to Luke’s left, and he looks up and realizes Ashton is asleep beside him, slumped back on the couch with his mouth slightly open and his hair messy around his face. When he looks to the other side, Cal is passed out on Michael’s shoulder and Brendan is motionless where he’s sprawled out on the floor.   
   
“Well they’re no fun,” Michael jokes.  
   
“You guys must be tired. Let’s go to bed,” Luke suggests.  
   
Michael shakes his head. “Let’s go to the rink.”  
   
Luke blinks. “Now? It’s the middle of the night.”  
   
“I know.” Michael kisses Luke’s cheek.   
   
“So?”  
   
“You’re allowed to skate again, right? I wanna be there, the first time.”  
   
“You will be, it’ll be at practice tomorrow. If we all don’t fall asleep in the middle of it.”  
   
“It should be now.” Michael slowly nudges Calum off him and stands up, holding out a hand for Luke to take and pulling him to his feet.   
   
“We’ll get in trouble if anyone finds out,” Luke points out.  
   
“That makes it fun.” Michael’s eyes sparkle, and Luke can’t say no. 


	22. vingt-deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ATTENTION: if you were triggered in any way by what happened to Michael in London last night, please come talk to me before proceeding with this story. (I promise it isn't that bad, I just want everyone to be okay) [This](http://paper-storm.tumblr.com/ask) is my ask box on tumblr.

Michael makes Luke wear a helmet, and he insists on doing the strap up himself to make sure it’s tight enough and won't fall off. Luke wants to protest on the grounds that no one ever wears a helmet when they’re just practicing and he is certainly more than capable of staying upright on a pair of skates as long as no one is pushing him over, but then he remembers Michael’s face at the hospital, when he didn’t know if Luke was going to be okay, and Luke keeps his mouth shut about it. If Michael wants to fuss, he’s earned the right to it. Michael keeps one hand on Luke’s hips as they walk down the tunnel to the bench, as if he’s afraid Luke’s also forgotten how to walk and is just going to collapse in on himself. Again, Luke doesn’t mention it. Then Michael steps onto the ice first, and holds out his hands.  
   
“What are you doing,” Luke asks flatly, not really a question.   
   
“Will you just c’mon?”  
   
“You remember I’ve done this before, right?”  
   
Michael rolls his eyes and holds his hands out further. “I had to watch you get your head smashed in, okay? I want to make sure you don’t fall, just give me this.”  
   
Luke grumbles about it but he doesn’t fight. He takes Michael’s outstretched hands and lets Michael help him onto the ice. The feeling of his blades sliding along the smooth, cold surface is more satisfying than Luke realized it would be. He didn’t realize how much he missed this. It’s dark in the arena, except for the few dim security lights, and it feels like no one else in the world exists except him and Michael.   
   
Michael doesn’t let go of Luke's hands. He skates backwards so Luke can go forwards, holding onto him like he’s afraid Luke is going to crumble. It’s annoying and sweet at the same time.   
   
“Okay, see, I’m fine,” Luke says. “Can I skate like a grown up now?”  
   
“No.”  
   
Luke moves in closer to Michael and kisses him, to distract him enough that he lets go of Luke’s hands in favor of cupping them around Luke’s hips. Then Luke pulls away from him suddenly and takes off, skating a fast lap around the rink. The cool air fills his lungs, his thighs burning with the effort. It’s been nearly a month but Luke’s body still knows this so well. His feet know how to pattern one in front of the other, crossing on the turn, leaning into it so he can glide. The sound is comforting, barely there but still audible, metal blades on ice and air whooshing as it whips past his ears. For the first time since he got hurt, Luke is angry this was taken away from him for so long. Only for a moment, though. Then he’s just exhilarated breathless he has it back.   
   
Michael’s face is stuck halfway between a disapproving glare and an affectionate smile when Luke loops back around to him and stops short, purposely covering Michael’s shins in a shower of snow.   
   
“See?” Luke says, grinning. “I’m all good.”  
   
“You’re an asshole, is what you are,” Michael informs him haughtily, but he still tugs Luke back in to kiss him again. His annoyance comes from concern, and Luke can understand that.  
   
They stay for a while, testing Luke out. It’s nice, here, when it’s quiet. Their words echo off the walls, bouncing in the empty cavern of the enormous space like they’re at the bottom of a canyon. The hum of the air conditioning is the only sound other than the two of them, and it gives the room a fuzzy, surreal feeling to it, taking away everything else that matters. The low lighting makes it almost romantic, the shadows playing on Michael’s face when he moves. Michael keeps holding onto him. Luke doesn’t need him to, but he lets Michael do it anyway. Michael holds his arm or his hips while they skate, and Luke is more relieved than anyone to find out he can still do this. He’ll need to work hard in the next few weeks to get back in shape, rebuilding the muscle mass he’s lost being inactive for nearly a month, but all the skills he’s been honing his entire life are still here. His body still knows how to move, how to carry itself, even if maybe a little slower than before.  
   
Michael lets go of him for a while, letting Luke take another few laps around the oval surface of the rink, and when he gets back he bumps into Michael from behind, wrapping his arms around Michael’s waist and hugging him.   
  
“Hey, easy,” Michael laughs. “Your doctor said no contact.”  
  
“I don’t think she meant this kind,” Luke smiles as he spins Michael around in his arms and kisses him again.   
  
Michael cups Luke’s face in his hands, slowly moving his fingers over Luke’s cheekbones. He pulls Luke down just enough for their foreheads to touch, so Luke can feel Michael’s breath on his skin. “You’re so beautiful,” Michael whispers. “I don’t tell you that enough.”   
  
Luke blushes. “Shut up.”  
  
“I’m serious. When I first started to like you … God, I was so mad at myself, because I didn’t want to ever fall for a teammate but you … you’ve got those bright blue eyes, and these big shoulders and … I was so annoyed that I wanted you, you know? Thought I was going to fuck everything up because you’d never want me back.”  
  
“You’re perfect,” Luke tells him, holding around Michael’s waist and kissing the corner of his mouth. He hates that Michael never quite believes that. A sensitive heart beats underneath his rough-and-tumble exterior. “The tattoos and the hair and everything, the way you walk around so confident, you look so cool all the time, I was so intimidated by you. But your smile, Michael, it just. It lights up your whole face. You’re so breathtaking when you smile. I never had a chance.”  
  
Michael kisses Luke, quicker and deeper this time. His tongue slides into Luke’s mouth, swirling inside it, tasting him. Luke is left breathless and dizzy like he always is, hit as if with a frying pan like in a cartoon at the way Michael pours his whole self into the way he kisses. He always has. When Michael kisses him, Luke feels like he can taste a little bit of Michael’s soul. Luke leans forward a little, wanting more, and his skate slips carelessly and all of a sudden they’re both losing their balance and yelping in surprise and tumbling down to the ice in a tangle of limbs. Luke lands awkwardly half on top of Michael and it knocks the wind out of him a little, and he can’t stop laughing.   
  
“Oh my God,” Michael groans, half laughing too but still worrying, “fuck, are you okay?”  
  
“Yes.” Luke giggles as he unwinds himself from Michael and lies down on his back on the ice, with Michael next to him. The surface is cold and dry under Luke’s damp clothes, it contrasts with his overheated skin.   
  
“See, it’s a good thing I made you wear a helmet.”  
  
“Yeah, except now it’s digging into my brain.” Luke lifts his head and tugs at the strap enough to get the helmet off and toss it gently away. It skids along the slippery surface and slides a few feet before it slows. The he lies back down, the ice cool against the back of his skull now.   
  
“Is your head okay?” Michael asks.   
  
“Yes.” Luke looks up, into the lights above them. Most of them aren’t turned on, so without the glare Luke can see how many there are. There are pathways up there too, a few feet off the ceiling, metal bridges where people can walk to fix things or move the speakers around. Luke’s never noticed that. He wonders if there are people up there while they’re playing, looking down on the game.   
  
“I’m really happy for you,” Michael says softly, taking Luke’s hand and threading their fingers together.   
  
“You were pretty worried, huh?”  
  
“Yeah. Things can go so wrong. I’ve seen concussions end careers before. I didn’t … didn’t know what we were gonna do, if. If you couldn’t come back.”  
  
“Me neither.”  
  
“What if the jumbotron falls on us?" Michael asks, nodding up at the enormous four-sided TV screen and scoreboard.  
  
Luke giggles. “We’d be squished. They’d find our flattened bodies holding hands though.”  
  
“Aw. How romantic.” Michael jokes.  
  
Luke laughs again.   
  
“I’m so happy you’re okay.” Michael says again.   
  
“I know. Me too.”  
  
“It’s kinda beautiful in here at night.”  
  
“Kinda feels like we’re the last two people left on earth.”  
  
“If that’s the case the human race is doomed.”  
  
Luke smiles and shakes his head. Michael moves in a little closer and pushes up to rest on one elbow so he can lean over Luke and kiss him. His lips are soft, the taste of them familiar. Luke is so lucky to have this. He wraps his arms around Michael’s neck and pulls him in closer, so Michael is half on top of him and Luke can slide their tongues together. Michael’s leg falls between Luke's and he moves it, slowly and purposefully, so his thigh rubs against Luke’s crotch.  
  
“Tryin’ to rile me up?” Luke asks into Michael’s lips, not at all upset about it.   
  
“Yes,” Michael murmurs. “Is it working?”  
   
“Yeah,” Luke breathes. “Want you.”  
  
“Doesn’t take much, huh?” Michael jokes.   
  
“Just takes you,” Luke tells him, and he means it.   
  
“Such a sap,” Michael admonishes, but it comes out fond like it always does.   
   
“You should fuck me,” Luke says quietly.   
  
Michael laughs. “Here? I think we’d get frostbite.”  
  
“Not here. In the showers.”  
   
“In the showers our teammates use,” Michael repeats, not really saying no, just wanting to make sure Luke is aware of what he’s suggesting. “So the next time one of our very manly, very  _straight_  friends is rinsing himself off after a game, he’ll be standing on tile covered in the remnants of our jizz.”  
   
Luke grins and kisses Michael’s cheek, and doesn’t give him the chance to argue. He gets up quickly and skates away, laughing as Michael chases after him.   
  
Skates come off on the bench and then Luke grabs Michael’s hand and pulls him off toward the washrooms. They pause to strip and kiss on their way, and Luke pushes Michael against the wall for just a minute to suck at a spot on his neck.   
  
“Dick,” Michael mutters, not meaning it. “I’m not gonna be able to hide that.”  
  
“Good.” Luke secures his lips around the same spot and sucks harder. “I want people to think you’re gettin’ some.”  
  
“Do you think people know? Like, the guys?”  
   
“Some of them, probably. I don’t think we’re that subtle sometimes. Especially after this whole thing. You comin’ to the hospital, me calling you earlier when I found out I could practice.”  
   
“Do you care?”  
   
Luke shakes his head. “Not even a little bit. You?”  
   
Michael presses his lips together and shakes his head either, looking at Luke like he’s in awe of him.  
   
“C’mon.” Luke takes his hand again and keeps moving.  
   
Luke picks a shower-head at the back of the room and adjusts the nozzle while Michael gets himself fully nude and then his hands find Luke’s boxers and push them down too. Luke smiles as he steps out of them and then pulls Michael with him under the warm spray while Michael’s mouth finds Luke’s collarbone and press soft kisses into his skin. Luke nudges his head up to slide their lips together again.  
   
Michael reaches behind Luke for a bar of soap while they kiss, lathering it up in his hands.   
  
“Dude, we’re not actually showering,” Luke jokes.   
  
“I know,” Michael says with a filthy smirk, reaching between them and grabbing Luke’s hardening cock. He strokes it, the soap on his hands making it so slippery, and Luke moans and holds onto Michael’s shoulders for support because the unexpected touch makes his knees buckle.  
  
“Fuck. Why have we never done this before, that feels amazing.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Michael asks. He kisses Luke’s neck and strokes faster, the sound obscene in Luke’s ears and the warm water pelting down on his shoulders.  
  
Michael’s hand squeezes, twists, has Luke panting and needy for more so quickly. He has Luke backed up against the wall so the water falls between them, and Luke just stands there, breathless, and lets Michael do whatever he wants until it’s too much, he’s too close, and they need to stop before it’s all over too quickly.   
  
“Michael,” he stutters. “You gotta – ”  
  
“Don’t come yet,” Michael interrupts, nipping at Luke’s neck.   
  
Like whimpers and his shoulders shudder. “Slow down, then, fuck.”  
  
Michel smiles against Luke’s skin and kisses it. “That didn’t take long.”  
  
“Would you just get on with it?” Luke snaps, impatient. He isn’t at all in the mood for teasing right now.  
  
Michael listens, reaching around Luke and pressing a soap-slicked finger into him slowly. Luke moans and slumps forward, resting his head on Michael’s shoulder. Michael abandons Luke’s cock so he can wrap his arm around Luke’s waist and hold him, while he slips a second finger into Luke’s body and pumps them in and out.   
  
Luke never gets used to how good this feels. The way Michael’s fingers stretch his muscles, pressing into spots inside that make black spots erupt in Luke’s eyes. He rocks back into it, pleasure blooming bright in his gut, desperate for more.   
  
“Please tell me that’s good,” Michael rasps, his cock hot and rock hard against Luke’s hip.   
  
“Shit, yes, come on,” Luke babbles. It probably isn’t quite enough but he wants it this way tonight. Wants to feel it.   
  
Michael kisses him hard and hen flips him around, pushing Luke against the wall and pressing slow, torturous kisses down his spine. They make Luke shiver.  
   
“Michael,” he whispers.  
   
“Shh,” Michael breathes into his wet skin. “I got you.”  
   
He slides one arm around Luke’s waist, and then Luke feels the blunt head of Michael’s cock pressing at his entrance and pushing inside slowly, the head of it so big for a moment it makes Luke’s breath catch in his throat. He groans and drops his head forward as Michael slides inside, the stretch pronounced and burning but so fucking good.  
   
“You okay?” Michael grunts. He sounds fucked out already, like he wants more than anything to just shove himself inside all the way but he always checks. Always makes sure Luke is okay.  
   
“Yes,” Luke hisses. “C’mon, keep going.”  
   
Michael gets an easy rhythm going, his arm still wrapped lovingly around Luke’s stomach, but it isn’t enough.  
  
“Harder,” Luke begs.   
  
Michael hesitates. “I don’t wanna …”  
   
“My head is  _fine_ , Michael!” Luke cries exasperatedly. “Fuckin’ fuck me!”  
  
“I am!”  
   
“Like you mean it,” Luke grunts. It’s a challenge, and Michael takes it as one.   
  
“Oh, that’s how you want it? You wanna feel this shit tomorrow?” he asks in a low voice, accenting his words with sharp thrusts of his hips.   
  
Pleasure rips through Luke and he moans, head tipping further forward, resting against the wet tile. “Yeah. Fuck, just like that.”  
  
Michael squeezes Luke’s hip with one hand and takes Luke’s hand with the other, threading their fingers together against the wall, finding better leverage and thrusting into Luke quicker. “You want people wondering how you got those bruises on your hips tomorrow?” Michael growls in Luke’s ear. “Maybe seeing the one you left on my neck and putting some pieces together?”  
  
Luke can’t answer. His legs are shaking. He tries to rut back into Michael but Michael presses him further against the wall.  
  
“Don’t move,” he rasps, licking a hot stripe up Luke’s neck. “This is what you wanted. So you just get to stand there and let me use you.”  
  
Luke whimpers and nods.   
  
“Good boy,” Michael whispers.  
   
He fucks Luke hard and rough, just like Luke wanted, just like he’s been missing the last few weeks while Michael’s been so insistent on being careful. It’s overwhelming, it consumes him until all Luke can think and feel and breathe is Michael; Michael inside him, surrounding him, kissing the back of his neck, moaning pretty words into Luke’s skin.  
   
“Fuck, baby,” Michael breathes.  
   
“Don’t stop,” is all Luke can get out, his voice sounding like there are hands squeezing around his neck.  
   
“Touch yourself, okay?” Michael tells him. “Wanna feel you come on me.”  
   
Luke shakes his head, forehead rubbing the shower wall. “Just like this. Just you.”  
   
“Fuck,” Michael moans again, louder this time, chasing it with a strangled sound as he pumps his hips harder into Luke, finding his prostate and crashing into it. The feeling starts, low in Luke’s gut, climbing along his veins and spreading. His skin prickles everywhere. Everything goes hot, invisible hands pulling at him.  
   
“Right there,” he chokes out. “Please don’t stop.”  
   
“So  _fuckin’_ sexy like this,” Michael’s voice whispers in his ear, harsh and desperate.  
   
It’s like melting and exploding at the same time when Luke loses it, nonsense spilling from his mouth and his untouched cock spilling onto the wall in front of him, the mess instantly washed away by the cascade of warm water from above his head. His muscles clench and release, and Michael moans so loud behind him, gasping as his thrusts go erratic and uncontrolled and then he’s falling too, squeezing Luke’s hips so hard, filling Luke up from the inside.  
   
For a long time, neither of them can move. Michael rests his forehead against the back of Luke’s neck, breathing raggedly against his skin and holding onto him; the only thing that’s keeping Luke from tumbling to the floor as his muscles twitch and his legs threaten to give out. Eventually Michael moves, his softening cock slipping from Luke’s body, and then Luke does sort of fall but Michael catches him and they end up on the floor, laughing weakly. They sit against the wall and Michael puts his arm around Luke’s shoulders so Luke can lean into him, the water still falling on them and keeping them warm. Luke laughs again, because he’s spent and fucked out and happy, and cuddles up gratefully into Michael’s side.  
   
“That was …” Michael can’t find words, and Luke doesn’t need him to.  
   
“Yeah. It was.”  
   
“I … I’m really glad I found you,” Michael tells him, soft and sentimental. He often gets this way in the aftermath of good sex. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”  
   
“Me neither. Love you so much,” Luke murmurs. He kisses underneath Michael’s jaw and relaxes into the feeling of Michael’s arms around him.  
   
*           *           *  
   
Luke’s first game back is more overwhelming than he thought it would be. It’s a home game, so the announcer makes a big deal out of his return and the crowd claps and screams their collective heads off, chanting his last name for nearly a full minute when Luke first takes to the ice. It’s deafening. Luke smiles and waves shyly at them, trying to keep it humble but wanting to burst in the feeling of 21 000 people cheering for him. It’s a fast-paced game, they all are this close to the end, hard hits and desperation, and it culminates in a definitive 6-2 victory over the Boston Bruins. Luke scores the first goal of the night, a wicked slapper from the point on a power-play, and then gets two more assists as the evening carries on, and is awarded the night’s first star performance after it’s all over. The crowd goes wild, and Luke tosses his stick to a little girl in the fourth row who smiles at him and waves and looks as excited as if he were Santa Claus. Luke blows a kiss at her, and she jumps and pretends to catch it. The locker room is a frenzy of cheering and hands clapping Luke’s shoulders, welcoming him back officially. Moments like this are what Luke lives for, and it makes everything he’s been though in the last month entirely worth it. Luke barely remembers the struggles, now. He can only focus on how it feels to be back.  
   
*           *           *  
   
“So you think we’ll make the playoffs?”  
  
Ashton pours rich, black coffee into Luke’s cup, and then pushes the cream and sugar in his direction so Luke can, in Ashton’s words,  _ruin it._  Ashton drinks his like a pirate, though, thick and bitter and blacker than the damn night, and Luke can swallow a mouthful of Michael’s come happily but he can’t bring himself to choke down a single sip of what Ashton calls coffee. He’s never used that comparison out loud. He should, because Ashton would cringe and blush and it would be funny.  
  
“Maybe,” Ashton answers. “Probably. It’s too soon to be cocky, though.”  
  
“We’re in a spot now,” Luke muses, wanting to talk it out because that’s how he rolls. Michael doesn’t like to talk about it at all, always too afraid of jinxing their chances, so Luke has to bother Ashton instead. “But the Pens are right on our tail.”  
  
“That’s how it works, kiddo. It’s a race right till the end.”  
  
“I know. I watched, every year. It’s just stressful, being in it.”  
  
“Do you – ” Ashton begins, but they’re interrupted by frantic yelling from the hallway.  
  
“Ashton!” what sounds like Calum's voice screams. “Ash, I need help!”  
  
Ashton and Luke both jump up; Luke’s heart races. Ashton runs and wrenches open the door. “Fuck,” he breathes. He disappears through the doorway, over his shoulder calling Luke’s name.   
  
Time stops. So does Luke’s heart. He can’t move, can’t  _breathe_. He’s completely frozen in fear, paralyzed and glued to the floor.  
  
“Hold him so I can unlock the door,” Calum’s voice says. He sounds panicked. Terrified.  
  
“Luke!” Ashton yells again. “Get out here!”  
  
Finally Luke can force himself to move. He rounds the corner to catch just the tail ends of Calum and Ashton helping someone into Calum’s apartment. They’re half holding him up, struggling to drag him inside. His black clothes are ripped and dirty. His hair is as red as the trail of shiny liquid dripping off him and soaking into the carpet behind them. Luke’s heart stops all over again. He can't breathe. He wants to slam the door shut behind them. He wants to run away.  
  
“What the fuck happened?”  Ashton is asking loudly, as they haul Michael onto the couch. Luke can only stand and watch, from across the hall. He can’t move again.  
  
“I don’t know. Ash.” Calum sounds so close to tears, his voice wavering and his hands coming up to cover his face. “I found him like this, on the street outside. Lying on the fucking street, bleeding.”  
  
“Dad,” Michael grunts. “Car.”  
  
“He … he hit you?" Calum cries. “With a fucking  _car_?”


	23. vingt-trois

An audible gasp tears out of Luke’s throat. His head is a jumble of confusion and fear and colors that are too bright. Thoughts that race and spin and all vie for his attention at once, so it’s nothing but a cloud of noise and Luke can’t pinpoint individual voices. It doesn’t make sense. None of it. He knows Michael’s dad is a piece of work, but this is so far beyond anything Luke ever thought would happen. Showing up after a game and threatening Michael is miles away from trying to kill him. Luke’s feet have grown roots, and he can’t move. For a moment can’t think. Can’t even look at Michael – not that he can see anyway from his vantage point from across the hall – so terrified of what he’ll see. Then something snaps inside him, and he needs to be next to Michael right now. Sooner than right now. Yesterday.  
  
“I’m calling the police.” Ashton reaches into his pocket for his phone and takes a few steps away to make the call, just as Luke enters the room.  
  
“An ambulance too!” Calum says to Ashton’s retreating back.   
  
“No.” Michael tries to move and then hisses sharply in pain. “I’m fine.”  
  
“You got run over with a fucking car you fucking idiot! You’re going to the hospital!” Calum yells.   
  
“No I’m not!” Michael fires back, but his voice is weak and raspy, like it hurts to talk at all. He coughs feebly and then there’s blood on his lips.  
  
Calum looks helplessly at Luke, his eyes begging for assistance. Luke is so scared it’s hard to move again, his heart hammering like a subwoofer in his chest, but he makes himself walk towards Michael’s broken form. He feels sick to his stomach as his eyes take in the scrapes, the road rash and the blood on Michael’s face and arms and knees. It oozes from ripped open skin, flesh torn back to reveal pink and red underneath, pulsing out in fat drops and staining the leather of Calum’s couch. The places his clothes are torn, the bruises already forming, fantastically blue and purple. Blood runs down from a deep gash on his forehead, and Michael wipes at it in annoyance and tries to blink it out of his eyes. Luke’s never seen this much blood, outside of a TV screen. Or a nightmare.  
  
Luke blinks too, against the burn of tears. He drops heavily to his knees and takes Michael’s pale cheeks in uncontrollably shaking hands. His skin is so cold.  
  
“I’m okay,” Michael tells him. His eyes are wide and frantic, and his words aren’t convincing.   
  
“Michael,” Luke whispers.   
  
“No,” Michael insists. He sounds near tears now too. In the background Ashton reports the hit and run, and says they know the driver. “Don’t do this. Don’t give me that face, I’m not going. It’s a couple scratches, just get me a towel.” He tries to sit up and then wheezes in pain and falls back down. Luke winces and makes a small, pathetic noise.  
   
“A couple scratches my fucking ass! There’s blood all over the road and the elevator and the floor!” Calum cries. He gets mad when he’s scared, Luke is finding out. “How much do you think you’ve lost already? How much more do you think you can do without? Do you wanna fuckin’ die?”  
   
“Calum,” Luke pleads, and his teammate falls silent. Luke can’t keep the tears in, they spill down his face. It’s useless to fight them. He turns back to Michael. “He’s right. I’m sorry. This isn’t a sprained ankle, babe. You have to go.”  
  
“I can’t,” Michael mumbles. “I already saw you in one this year. Don’t … please. Don’t make me go back.”  
  
Luke shakes his head. He runs trembling fingers lovingly through Michael’s hair; the skin on his hands comes back dirty and red. He knows what hospitals do to Michael, but he can’t back down. Not when Michael’s life might be at stake. Luke would never, ever forgive himself. “You have to. I’m so sorry. If anything is broken, by the time you figure it out the bones could’ve already started setting and then it would be too late for them to heal properly. The team needs you back in playing shape, right? The playoffs are soon. We need you, Michael. I need you.”  
   
Michael closes his eyes. They both know Luke’s right, but Luke’s heart aches for it anyway. He loves Michael so much, and this isn’t fair. None of it is.   
   
“What’s his deal with hospitals?” Ashton asks quietly, the question not intended for Luke or Michael.  
   
“His mom,” Calum answers.  
   
“Oh,” Ashton says, and then another, more understanding, “ … oh.”  
   
“Luke,” Michael barely whispers.  
   
Luke kisses his lips. They taste like metal. There’s nothing he can say to make any of this better, so he doesn’t bother.   
   
“C’mon, I’ll just drive you,” Calum says. “It’ll be quicker than waiting for an ambulance.”  
   
Michael looks unhappy but doesn’t fight. He lets Luke and Calum help him up, grunting in pain when they move him too quickly. Ashton grabs some tea towels from the kitchen and hands them to Luke, Luke folds one in half and presses it gently to the laceration on Michael’s forehead. That one, at least, will need stitches.   
   
“I’ll wait here for the cops,” Ashton says. “I’ll call as soon as I know anything.”  
   
“Thanks, Ash.” Luke’s voice quivers and he can’t look Ashton in the eye. Ashton is too kind, too sympathetic sometimes, and he’s been Luke’s temporary family this year, and Luke can’t deal with that right now. He wraps his arm securely around Michael’s waist and just concentrates on getting him downstairs and out to Calum’s car. Michael is weak, but mobile, so they make it quickly and Calum helps Luke load Michael into the backseat.   
   
Luke sits with him, his arm around Michael’s shoulders, while Calum drives.   
   
“I knew he hated me,” Michael says, his words muffled against Luke’s shirt. “I didn’t know he wanted me dead.”  
   
Luke closes his eyes. He doesn’t miss the unhappy, strangled noise Calum makes from the front seat. “This is the last time,” Luke promises, and he means it in a bones and steel sort of way. “We’ll make sure he never gets to hurt you again.”  
   
Blood soaks through Luke’s clothes and through his soul a little bit too, a small piece of him dying, having to see Michael like this. Michael’s breathing is quick and shallow, and he’s so pale, and Luke is so scared. He whimpers in pain every time they hit a bump or a pothole, and there are tears streaming down Luke’s face and churning in his gut that feels like he’s going to be sick again. He doesn’t know how to do this. No one he loves has ever been hurt like this before. He doesn’t know how Michael did it, when their positions were reversed just a few weeks ago. There was no blood on Luke, though. The scarlet fluid makes it so much worse. It amplifies the severity of everything, as it oozes out of Michael from so many different spots and dampens Luke’s shirt. He’s still got the towel pressed against Michael’s forehead, where it’s the worst, but the towel is drenched and bright red now, and it probably isn’t helping anymore. There’s an enormous stain on Michael’s shirt, too, somewhere on his abdomen is bleeding just as much as his head but Luke doesn’t have a second towel so he just grits his teeth and prays for green lights.   
  
“Faster, Cal,” Luke urges.   
  
“I’m going – ” Calum begins, but Luke interrupts.   
  
“He’s fuckin’ bleeding out back here, man. I know you’re trying but you gotta go faster,” he begs, his voice wavering pathetically while Michael groans softly beside him, and Calum floors the accelerator and doesn’t argue. Luke catches Calum’s eye in the rear view mirror and there are tears on his face too.   
   
It’s a flurry of activity at the hospital; full chaos. The nurses take too long with admission forms and insurance information, while Michael sways on the spot where’s he’s slumped against Luke and dripping blood on the floor, and then Calum loses his temper – something Luke’s never seen him do off the ice before – and starts yelling about who Michael is, that he’s losing blood fast, and if he dies waiting for treatment the Canadiens legal team will have every doctor in the place stripped of their license. He’s scary when he’s this angry, all six-foot-one of him stacked up against the tiny blond nurse who wouldn’t be a hundred pounds soaking wet, but it works. Michael gets put in a private room and a doctor shows up to examine him three minutes later. He promptly kicks Luke and Calum out, turning a deaf ear to Luke’s loud protests and threatening to call security and have them removed from the building if they don’t leave the room. They try to hover just outside, but a much larger, much meaner looking nurse muscles them down the hall to a waiting area.  
   
“You stay,” she commands, pointing a thick finger in their faces. “Let the doctor do his job. Wait here.”  
   
“Fucking …” Luke mutters, dropping down onto an uncomfortable plastic chair, but doesn’t finish the sentence because he’s too upset to string another word to the first. He stares at his own hands, caked in red from Michael’s injuries and still shaking so badly.  
   
“It’s protocol,” Calum says quietly. He doesn’t sound happy about it either.   
   
“I know. I just – he shouldn’t be alone.”  
   
Calum reaches over and squeezes Luke’s leg. “He’ll be okay. He’s stronger than you think.”  
   
“I know that.” Luke rolls his eyes in irritation, even though Calum is trying to help. “I’m not saying he’s some helpless little – whatever, who can’t deal with getting a couple stitches on his own. I’m saying he should have to. After everything he’s been through …”  
   
“He’s gonna be okay,” Calum repeats, not snapping back at Luke even though Luke would fully deserve it if he did.  
   
“I  _know_ ,” Luke says, for the third time. He does know. The knowledge just doesn’t make this any easier.   
   
Calum pats his leg again and then lets his hand fall away. They wait for what’s probably only twenty or thirty minutes, but feels like hours. Luke feels numb inside, dead to the world and to his surroundings, his only clear thoughts spent wishing he could be in the room with Michael. Not because Michael isn’t a grown adult who can handle this. But because, like Luke said, he shouldn’t have to face it alone.   
   
“What are we supposed to do?” Luke asks helplessly, finally breaking the thick silence. His voice cracks over the last word.  
  
“I don’t know.”  
   
“Has something like this ever happened before?” Luke presses, getting worked up again because he isn’t equipped to deal with what’s happened.  
  
“Not like this.”  
  
  
“Like what, then?”  
  
“Used to hit him, when Michael was younger. Before he lived with me.”  
  
Luke gapes at him. He thought that was a secret Michael had only shared with him. “You  _knew_? You knew it was happening  _while_  it was happening and you didn’t do anything about it?”  
  
“What was I supposed to do?” Calum protests.   
  
“Tell someone! Your parents, or fuck, call the cops!” Luke yells. A third nurse glares at them from a desk halfway down the hall and sends an annoyed “shh!” in their direction. Luke ignores her.   
  
Calum glares too, anger and intensity in his brown eyes. “I  _did_ ,” he says in short, clipped tones. “I called the cops three times, the year his mom died and it started. Three times they showed up at school to question Michael, and three times Michael denied it was happening and then didn’t speak to me for a month. After the third time I decided if I tried again he might not forgive me this time. I figured it was more important for me to stay his friend. He didn’t have anyone else.”  
  
Luke swallows and his heart beats too fast and he starts to wish he hadn’t spoken at all.   
  
“Eventually I figured out why he didn’t want anyone to know,” Calum continues hotly. “Because he’d get taken away from his dad and put in foster care. They might have moved him to a different city, and then he couldn’t play hockey. Who’d drive him, who’d pay for it? It’s not like the couple bucks the government throws at foster parents for food would cover elite league hockey. Michael’s dad may have been an abusive piece of shit but his one redeeming quality was that he was determined to see Michael make the NHL. Loving hockey was the only thing that kept Michael going some days. He used to come to school looking like hell, and when I asked if he was okay he’d just start going on about our last game, or one he watched on TV the night before. If he got stuck in a group home, that would all be over.”  
   
“Calum,” Luke mutters thinly, but Calum ignores him and barrels on.  
   
“So yeah, I helped him hide the bruises. I cleaned him up when he’d show up at my house in the middle of the night  _bleeding_. I fucking held him while he cried, promised him he’d always have me no matter what happened. And then when his dad found him with that guy and kicked him out, I  _begged_  my parents to let him live with us. I stuck by him when everyone else turned on him for being gay. I stuck by him last year, when everyone on the team hated him because he was a dick-bag to them, even though it meant a lot of them ended up hating me too. I was there for him, I’ve  _been_  there for him, for  _years_  before your pasty ass even got here. So don’t you  _dare_  sit there and tell me I didn’t do anything.”  
  
Tears spring to Luke’s eyes and he feels lower than dirt. He leans forward, elbows digging into his knees so he can bury his face in his hands. “Fuck. I’m sorry, you’re right, I – I’m so sorry, Cal. I’m such a fucking …”  
  
A hand rubs Luke’s back slowly, squeezing the back of his neck. “No you aren’t. You’re freaked out because someone you love is hurting.”  
  
“I love him so much,” Luke whispers.   
  
“I know. He loves you too. I can see it.”  
   
“He’s gonna be okay, right?” It isn’t a question Calum can answer with certainty, but Luke needs to hear it anyway. “Just … lie to me, okay? Tell me he’s gonna be fine.”  
   
“Physically, yeah, he’ll be okay.”  
   
“What about the other kind?”  
   
Calum pauses, and then says, “That’s what he’s got us for.”  
   
“Guys,” a male voice calls, and Luke and Calum both turn toward the sound. Ashton rushes toward them from down the long, white hall, flanked by two men in uniform and bullet proof vests. “How is he?”  
   
“We don’t know. They wouldn’t let us stay,” Calum says.  
   
Ashton drops into the empty chair on the other side of Luke and pulls him into a hug. Luke falls against Ashton’s broad chest, grateful for the comfort, and for not having to request it. “Are you alright?”  
  
Luke doesn’t bother lying. He doesn’t have the energy for it. “No,” he whispers. “Ash …”  
   
“I know,” Ashton soothes. “It’s alright, he’ll be alright.”  
   
“Are you Mr. Clifford’s family?” one officer asks, his eyes narrowing slightly like he already knows they aren’t. He probably knows exactly who they are.  
   
“Yes,” Calum answers immediately, defiantly like he’s daring them to argue.  
   
The other officer looks Calum up and down, taking in his brown skin and dark, almond-shaped eyes and raising an eyebrow.   
   
“Okay, fine, not technically.”  
   
The officer doesn’t argue. "Do you know the license plate number of the car we’re looking for? Mr. Irwin here didn’t.”  
   
“Fuck, no, I don’t either.”  
   
“The make and model? Color? Anything?”  
   
“No, I didn’t see it, I – ”  
   
“It’s a Volvo. Dark green, really rusty. I don’t know the year, but old. 90s probably,” Luke interrupts. When Calum and Ashton frown curiously at him, he adds, “I saw it months ago. He was waiting for Michael outside the arena.”  
   
“Are you saying the victim’s father has been stalking him?” the taller officer asks sharply.  
   
“I … I don’t know, I …” Luke takes a moment to think about it, and then feels stupid for not seeing it before. “Shit. Yeah, I guess he has. He showed up at the arena twice, and then he found us at a restaurant a while ago, in the middle of the night. Michael didn’t know how he knew where we were. He must have followed us. There could have been other times, too. Michael never said. And I think I saw him outside Michael’s apartment once.”  
   
“And you’re sure it was his father driving the car that hit Mr. Clifford.”  
   
“Michael said it was,” Calum chimes in. “We didn’t see it, I just found him out there, after it happened.”   
   
The officers look at each other, and one turns and walks off, talking in a low voice into the radio strapped to his vest.   
   
“We’ll put an APB out on the car,” the remaining one says. “And we’ll need to talk to the victim once he’s been patched up.”  
   
“What happens when you find him?” Luke asks.   
   
“That depends on Mr. Clifford. On whether he wants to press charges.”  
   
“He will,” Luke promises. He’s not entirely sure that’s true, but he’s going to make it true.   
   
A door opens, down the hall in the other direction, and the tall, dark-haired doctor walks toward them. Ashton and Luke and Calum all stand up expectantly. They’re over-reacting, all of them, acting as if the doctor might be about to tell them Michael died on the operating table when they all know his injuries weren’t serious enough for that, but Luke can’t help it. He feels terrible, now, for brushing off the severity of his own injuries when he was the one in this building with a busted head and Michael was in the position Luke is now. It’s more horrible than Luke realized.  
   
“Has anyone contacted Michael’s family?” is the first question out of the doctor’s mouth, and Luke balls his hands into fists.   
   
“Not fucking this again,” Calum mutters. “He doesn’t have family, alright? He’s got us. Is he okay?”  
   
“I can really only speak to – ”  
   
Calum goes off. “Are you people deaf or just stupid?! We’re it! The three of us, that’s all he has! His mom is dead, he has no siblings, and his dad is the cock-sucker who  _put_ him in here, so yeah, we’re not blood related to the guy but we’re as close as you’re gonna fucking find! Tell me if my best friend is okay!”  
   
The doctor narrows his eyes, just like the police officer did, but seems to realize he has no choice. “His injuries aren’t life-threatening. He needed quite a few stitches, and he’d lost a lot of blood so he’ll need a transfusion. I’ll have to send him downstairs for x-rays as well, but I suspect three or four of his ribs are broken, and probably also his left wrist, quite badly. He’ll be out of commission for a while, but he should be fine, eventually.”  
   
“I need to speak to him,” the police officer says.  
   
“Luke first,” Calum argues. The two of them stare at each other, almost sizing each other up like lions about to attack, and then the officer backs down. He waves his hand as if to say fine, and Luke will thank Calum for it later.   
   
He half-runs the fifty feet to the door and pushes it open, letting it bang closed behind him. Michael is sitting on an examination table, his legs hanging over the side of it, in just his tight black boxers. He looks up when Luke comes in – Luke takes in stitches and something oily and yellow over the cut on his forehead, and a nasty, blue-ish bruise on Michael’s cheek that wasn’t there before. There are similar bruises on Michael’s chest and legs, and three other spots where split skin has been sewn back together with black thread, one near his shoulder and two on his stomach. His ribcage is wrapped up in thick cotton bandages, the scrapes on his knees covered with gauze and surgical tape, and his wrist folded up loosely in a flesh-colored tensor bandage. There are still splotches of dried blood all over him, where they’ve wiped most of it away but missed a few spots.  
   
Michael visibly relaxes when he sees it’s Luke, but Luke tenses. “Fuck,” he whispers.  
   
Michael sends him a joyless, lop-sided smile. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”  
   
Luke can’t even laugh. He goes to Michael, reaching for him and pulling him gently into a hug. Michael hugs him back. “I’m so sorry this happened. I’m sorry they wouldn’t let me stay with you.”  
   
“When can I get outta here?” Michael asks, his voice breaking a little. “I hate the smell.”  
   
“Soon,” Luke promises. “They need to do x-rays. Put a cast on your wrist if it’s broken. Get you some new blood. And the cops wanna talk to you.”  
   
“Why?”  
   
“Because your dad tried to kill you. They want you to press charges.”  
   
Michael shrugs listlessly, and lets his arms fall from around Luke’s shoulders. “It doesn’t matter,” he mumbles, staring down at his knees.   
   
“Yes it does.” Luke wraps his hands around the back of Michael’s neck and squeezes. “He violated the restraining order four times in the last six months, Michael. He hit you with a car. This isn’t about slapping him on the wrist. He’ll go to jail this time, you won’t have to deal with him anymore.”  
   
“It won’t be for good.”  
   
“It’ll be long enough!” Luke insists. He brushes his fingers lightly over the bruises on Michael’s face, swallowing over lumps of emotion in his throat. “God, look at what he did to you. Don’t you think you deserve to be rid of him? To be able to walk down the street and just live your life and not always be looking over your shoulder?”   
   
Michael doesn’t answer. He looks sad and small; more of him bruised than just his skin. Parts that don’t heal as quickly as flesh does. Luke kisses the corner of his mouth and feels utterly helpless.  
   
“Calum told me what else he used to do to you.”  
  
“You knew he hit me.”  
  
“Yeah, but I thought it was like … every now and then. Michael, I didn’t know it was all the time, for  _years_.” Luke’s voice breaks too. “I didn’t know you used to turn up at Cal’s house bleeding. I didn’t know you had to stay with your dad so you could keep playing hockey, even though he beat you.”  
  
Michaels jaw clenches. He looks angry, even though there are tears in his eyes. “He shouldn’t have told you that.”  
  
“Why?” Luke pleads desperately. He tries to make Michael look at him, but he won’t. “Why didn’t you want me to know?”  
  
Michael just shakes his head and can’t answer. He’s trying so hard not to cry, so Luke can’t bring himself to keep pushing and make it worse. “Okay,” he whispers, and wraps Michael up in another hug instead. He holds Michael gently, not wanting to hurt his injured ribs, and Michael clings to him and pushes his face into Luke’s shoulder.   
   
There’s a soft knock at the door, and Luke pulls away from Michael reluctantly as the police officer steps into the room. Michel reaches for the thin, papery hospital robe sitting next to him on the table, and Luke quickly helps him into it, shielding his mostly-bare body from a stranger’s gaze.  
   
“I’ve been told to be brief, a nurse wants to take you for an x-ray,” the officer says. Then he turns to Luke. “Could we have some privacy?”  
   
“He’s staying,” Michael says, slipping an arm around Luke’s waist and not letting him move. Luke turns into Michael’s chest, making it perfectly clear with body-language that he isn’t going anywhere. Not this time.  
   
Michael is asked fairly basic questions, about his relationship with his dad, when Michael filed the restraining order, about the attack earlier today and the incident at the rink a few months ago. Michael doesn’t ask how he knew about that one. Luke hopes Michael isn’t mad he told the officer about it. Michael answers all the questions with a blank face and flat voice, not letting an inch of emotion shine through. Luke stays pressed to his side, rubbing Michael’s thigh slowly while he talks, Michael’s arm around his shoulders so Luke has to stay stuck to him like glue. Luke doesn’t mind one bit.  
  
Eventually the officer has everything they need for the time being, especially after Michael is able to give the license plate and a more accurate description of his dad’s car, and says they’ll be in touch and then he’s gone. Michael shakes after he leaves, his body trembling with pent up emotion that finally filters out like light through cracked curtains.  
   
Luke kisses his cheek and leaves his mouth resting there.   
  
There’s another knock at the door, and Calum’s head pokes around the edge of it. “Can we come in?”  
  
Michael nods, and Calum and Ashton walk into the room with somber expressions. Calum goes right to Michael so Luke lets go of him and backs off to give them room.   
  
“Hey Butch,” Calum says softly, his hands on Michael’s shoulders.   
  
Michael laughs a little, the sound thick from tears he’s still trying desperately to hold back. “Hey Sundance.”  
  
Luke gets the impression it’s been a long time since they’ve used the nicknames. He gets imaginary flashes of them as kids, of Michael broken and beaten and Calum taking care of him in secret, and has never loved Calum more than he does right now.  
  
“You scared us.”  
  
“Sorry.”   
  
Calum tips forward so his forehead rests against the top of Michael’s down-turned head. “Gettin’ real tired of seeing you covered in blood that another player didn’t put there.”   
  
“I know.”  
  
“He’s gotta go away, Mikey. This can’t happen again.”  
  
It hits Luke even harder, now, exactly how long Calum’s been watching Michael get hurt like this and having to suffer through not being able to protect him from it. He feels even worse for accusing Calum of not caring. Calum has cared way longer than Luke has.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Michael mumbles again, and Calum shakes his head and pulls Michael into a hug.   
  
“No. It isn’t your fault, big brother.”  
  
Calum lifts one arm up and gestures for Luke to join them, so Luke does, and then Ashton does too, on the other side. They wrap Michael up, desperately hoping to heal his wounds with six arms and three hearts that love him.


	24. vingt-quatre

Michael gets the X-rays he needs taken and his wrist set and bound properly and then they discharge him because he refuses to stay another minute. He’s loud and angry and Luke hates every minute of it. Calum drives them back to the building three of them live in instead of Michael’s. Luke doesn’t say it out loud, but he’s grateful Calum did because Michael shouldn’t be alone tonight. Luke sits in the backseat with Michael and holds his hand. After Michael’s mini-breakdown at the hospital, he won’t make direct eye contact with Luke, so Luke just threads their fingers together and doesn’t press the issue. He tries to hide how much it hurts.  
   
There’s still the dried stain of blood on the pavement outside, blocked off by pylons and police tape, and Luke can’t look at it.  
  
They all ride the elevator up and walk the short distance to Ashton and Luke’s apartment in complete silence, like they’re coming back from a funeral, even though no one is anywhere close to dead. Michael has a filled prescription for painkillers in a white paper bag in one hand, though, and a cast on the other and bruises and stitches scattered everyone, marring the smooth expanse of his pale skin, and they might as well have lost him for how Luke feels right now. He’s so scared of what comes next, that he won’t be able to be what Michael needs to get through this.   
  
“Are you …” Ashton begins, the half-question directed at Michael, but then trails off helplessly. He isn’t the only one who has no idea what to say.  
   
“I think I’m just gonna …” Michael gestures in the direction of Luke’s bedroom.  
   
He looks exhausted, probably more emotionally than physically, even though it is the middle of the night, so Luke thinks that’s probably the best thing for him right now. “Do you want me to …?” he asks.  
   
Michael shakes his head and still won’t look Luke in the eye. “You don’t need to.”  
   
It isn’t the answer Luke wants, but Michael’s gone before he can think of a proper way to express that without sounding like he’s pushing his own needs on Michael’s.   
   
“Fuck,” Luke mumbles, rubbing his hands through his hair. So many things have happened in such a short time, Luke is still playing catch up in his brain. He still doesn’t know how to process this.  
   
Calum pats his shoulder. “I’m gonna call Therrien,” he says, pulling his phone from his pocket and stepping into the hallway.   
   
Luke has never felt so handcuffed. He leans against the kitchen counter and presses his lips together, trying not to let everything he’s felt in the last few hours come crashing out all at once in an avalanche. Then Ashton is next to him out of nowhere, folding him into the hug he can tell Luke desperately needs, and Luke’s walls come down a little, the avalanche happening anyway. Ashton has that effect on him.  
   
“It’s okay,” Ashton tells him quietly, rubbing his back.   
   
“What am I supposed to do?” Luke asks helplessly. He clings to Ashton like he used to with Jack and Ben, before they got older and brothers didn’t hug each other that way anymore.   
   
“You don’t need to fix him, Luke. Just be there for him.”  
   
“What if I make it worse?” Luke mumbles into Ashton’s t-shirt.  
   
“You won’t.”  
   
Luke nods and doesn’t say anything else for a while, just gives in to the comfort Ashton always so willingly offers and enjoys it for just a moment before it’ll be his turn to be the one holding someone else together while they shatter. Luke doesn’t know how to do this. He’s a little brother, he’s never taken care of someone before. He’s never had to.  
   
“Go,” Ashton tells him, letting go eventually and nodding in the direction Michael disappeared in.  
   
“He said – ”  
   
“I know what he said. Sometimes people don’t ask for what they need when they’re afraid the person won’t want to give it to them. Go be with your man.”  
   
Luke nods and listens. He’ll thank Ashton later. He’s almost at his door when the one behind him opens after a quick knock, and Luke turns to see Brendan and Carey bursting into the apartment, with wide eyes and worried expressions.  
   
“I just got your text,” Brendan says, sounding frantic. “Is he okay?”  
   
“Yeah.” Ashton waves Luke on, indicating he’ll fill their teammates in on what happened so Luke doesn’t need to stay.   
   
Luke knocks softly on his own bedroom door – something he’s never done before in almost two decades of being alive – and then opens it and enters the dark room. Michael is lying in Luke’s bed, curled up on his side with his eyes open. He doesn’t look up when Luke walks in and shuts the door behind himself. Luke tries not to take it personally. He strips down to his boxers because there’s nothing like feeling Michael's skin right against his own, and climbs onto the mattress. Ashton’s right. Michael doesn’t have to want Luke’s support. He’s going to get it anyway.   
   
Luke tugs the blankets back up over both of them and slides one arm around Michael’s waist, moving in close enough to nudge his face up and kiss his lips.   
   
“How are you?” he asks quietly.  
   
Michael huffs humorlessly, displaying the stupidity of the question.   
   
“Physically, I mean,” Luke clarifies. “Did you take the pain meds?”  
   
Michael nods a little. “Yeah. They’re kicking in. I’m okay.”  
   
“Good.”  
   
“I don’t want you to feel sorry for me,” Michael tells him, in a small voice. “That’s why I didn’t … tell you. About the stuff when I was a kid. In more detail, anyway.”  
   
“I don’t,” Luke promises. “I love you, and I feel sick about what he did to you. What he’s  _been_  doing to you, for such a long time. It’s not pity, Michael. It’s love.”  
   
Michael nods again and turns his face into the pillow. When Luke tries to tug him in closer, Michael goes willingly, letting Luke hold him tight. His shoulders tremble and Luke doesn’t let go.   
   
“I love you, too,” Michael whispers. “You know that, right?”  
   
“Then tell me how I can help you.”  
   
“Don’t … don’t leave, okay?” Michael says quietly, into the tiny space between them.   
   
“I’m not,” Luke answers, confused.  
   
“No, like … not …” Michael sighs. “Never mind.”  
   
Luke shakes his head and drags his fingers slowly though Michael’s hair. He hates this whole thing, where Michael refuses to live inside the truth because he’s worried what people will think. His father broke him in so many ways. Maybe some ways even Luke will never know. “Please tell me.”  
   
“It’s stupid.”  
   
“Tell me anyway, so I can promise you it isn’t.”  
   
Michael plays with the front of Luke’s shirt, twisting the fabric in his fingers. “My mom’s dead. My dad hates me. Everyone … everyone leaves. I don’t want you to go.”  
   
Luke’s heart just about splits right in half. “The only thing that’s stupid is you thinking I’d ever leave. I love you,” he whispers. “I’m not going anywhere.”  
   
*           *           *  
   
There’s a practice the next day but their coach gives Luke, Michael, Calum, and Ashton the day off because of how late they were at the hospital. They’re all exhausted, mentally more than anything, so Luke is grateful for it. He and Michael sleep in. They don’t get to do that very often. They spend the morning in Luke’s bed, just lying together. Luke doesn’t bother saying anything. He doesn’t need to. He just lies with Michael, slowly sliding his fingers up Michael’s arms, through his hair; letting Michael know he’s here. Michael’s eyes are closed but he isn’t asleep, and Luke kisses his eyelids. He’s just existing in the moment with Luke, where Luke can keep him safe.   
   
Ashton knocks around 10, and when Luke gives him the okay to enter he walks into the room with a small black ball of fur in his hands. Ashton has big hands, and Kellin looks miniscule.  
   
“Thought you might want a friend,” Ashton says, depositing the kitten onto Michael’s chest. Michael doesn’t even look up, and Luke smiles at him, trying to make it apologetic so Ashton knows he hasn’t done anything wrong.  
   
“Thank you,” he says, sincerely, and Ashton nods and leaves, shutting the door behind him.  
   
“Hey, buddy,” Michael says softly, scratching the fur behind Kellin’s ears.  
   
His tiny motor starts going immediately, purring so loudly, and he rubs against Michael’s hand and then curls up between them on the blankets. Luke smiles again and pets him gently.  
   
“We missed you,” he adds.  
  
Luke momentarily abandons the kitten in favor of trailing his fingers over Michael’s cheek, and Michael turns into his hand. “Love you,” Luke whispers, and Michael just nods, so Luke kisses his forehead.   
  
Michael sighs, and sounds overwhelmed even without words.   
  
A half hour later, just as Luke is beginning to think at some point they should get up and make themselves something to eat, there’s another soft knock at the door. Luke answers with, “yeah?”  
   
Kellin looks up at the noise, blue eyes sharp and staring at the door.  
  
“Can I come in?” It sounds like Calum’s voice this time. Luke was expecting Ashton again.   
  
Luke says he can, and the door opens. Luke half rolls over so he can see.   
  
“Are you guys okay?” Calum asks.   
  
“Yes,” Luke answers. It’s sort of true.   
  
“My, um. My mom is here.”  
  
Michael lifts his head. “What?”  
  
Calum looks guilty. “I told her. About what happened. I didn’t know she was going to drive out, she just showed up.”  
  
Michael rolls onto his back and covers his face with his hands.   
  
“Can I see him now?” a female voice demands from beyond the door.   
  
“Mikey,” Calum says quietly.   
  
“Yeah,” Michael mumbles. He gets up, crawling gingerly over Luke, keeping the weight off his injured arm and hissing a little as the movement hurts his ribs, and following Calum back into the living room. He goes in just boxers and a t-shirt, but Luke pulls a pair of sweats first on since he’s never met this person.   
  
He trails after them. Ashton is standing in the doorway to the kitchen looking awkward, staring toward the middle of the room where she’s standing. She looks like what Calum would look like if he was a middle-aged woman. Short, black hair, dark, almond shaped eyes, light brown skin. Luke catches sight of her just before she pulls Michael into a big, warm looking hug.   
  
“I should skin you alive for not calling me sooner,” she mutters.   
  
“I’m sorry,” Michael mumbles.   
  
“Damn right you are. You should be.” She lets go of him but holds his face in her hands. “Are you alright?”   
  
Michael shrugs. “I guess.”  
  
She touches the bruises on Michael’s face and looks about as upset as Luke was when he first saw them.   
  
“I’m so sorry. I should have been able to protect you from this. I promised Karen I’d watch out for you.”  
  
“It isn’t your fault.”  
  
She hugs him again. “It doesn’t matter. You’re my third child. Protecting you is my job.”  
  
“Thanks,” Michael says softly, and his voice sounds thick. Emotional.   
  
“So what are we doing about this?”  
  
“Pressing charges,” Calum says, with a pointed look at Michael. “Sending his ass to jail.”  
  
Michael shrugs. “What’s the point? He didn’t kill me. It’s a broken wrist and a few stitches. If he even goes to jail, it won’t be for long.”   
   
“It’s a broken wrist and three broken ribs and like  _twenty_  stitches!” Calum corrects. “And a quart of someone else’s blood because yours is all over my damn apartment!”  
   
“I’ll pay someone to clean it for you.”  
   
“That isn’t the point and you know it!”  
  
“He belongs behind bars, Michael,” Ashton pipes up.   
  
“Yes he does,” Luke agrees.   
  
Calum’s mom looks over, noticing him for the first time. She eyes him up and down, and then turns back to Michael. “Is that Luke?”  
  
“Cal told you everything, huh?” Michael glares at Calum, and Calum just rolls his eyes and walks a few steps away. Angry again, because he’s scared. Just like at the hospital.  
  
“You told us,” Joy says. “At Christmas. You wouldn’t stop talking about him, did you think we wouldn’t figure it out?”  
  
Michael shrugs, but offers, “yeah. That’s Luke.”  
  
“So handsome.” She pats Michael on the cheek and then walks over. “I’m Joy.”  
  
“Hi.” Luke holds his hand out, but she bats it away and hugs him too. There’s a warm, motherly air to everything she does that reminds Luke of his own mom. He likes her instantly.  
  
“Calum says you’re good to Michael, so I like you.”  
  
“I try.” Luke presses his lips together. “Couldn’t keep him from getting …”  
  
“It isn’t your fault either,” Michael says. Luke meets his eyes and Michael looks like he’s about to cry. He looks like he hates having everyone here, fussing over him and feeling sorry for him. Something in his eyes is pleading Luke to get him out of this, to go back to Luke’s bed where they’re alone and he feels safe.   
  
Luke goes to him, and kisses his cheek before he slides his arms around Michael. Michael gives in without a fight, resting his head on Luke’s shoulder. Luke is proud of him, willingly accepting the comfort Luke is offering even though there are eyes on him.  
  
“David and I will testify,” Joy says. “If they know what he did all those years …”  
  
Michael shakes his head, but Luke only knows because he can feel it.   
  
“It’s okay,” he whispers, holding Michael tighter.   
  
“When was the last time you went to see your mom?” Joy asks.   
  
“This isn’t a good time,” Calum tells her, still eternally on Michael’s side even though he’s mad.  
  
“Yes, it is,” Joy argues, her mind made up. “Come on, Michael. I’ll drive you. Luke can come if he wants.”   
  
She walks out the door without another word, and Michael seems to know better than to argue. He heads back into Luke’s room to dress, and comes out in Luke’s clothes because his own are ripped and blood-soaked – jeans and a flannel that hangs a little too loose on his smaller shoulders.  
  
They don’t talk in the car. Luke isn’t even fully sure where they’re going – to a grave, probably, although he didn’t know Michael’s mom was buried nearby. He wonders why Michael never told him. Michael sits in the front with Joy and Luke in the back. Luke wishes Michael was next to him, he’d like to hold his hand. Twenty minutes later they pull up to an old graveyard next to an enormous stone church. Luke isn’t even sure where they are. It’s a part of the city he’s never been to before.  
   
“Go on.” Joy points in the direction of the section of newer tombstones, and nudges Michael gently. “Talk to her.”   
  
Michael shakes his head but listens. He limps a little as he walks and every staggered step pains Luke.   
  
“Why are we doing this?” he asks, wishing he could stop it. Michael doesn’t want to be here.   
  
“He needs it,” Joy says, regretful but firm. “Trust me.”  
  
“Hi Mom,” Michael says, to a small, granite marker, when he reaches it. It’s understated and simple, in contrast to some of the others, ones that are elaborate and towering, and shabby with age.  
  
Luke walks after him. He ignores Joy’s uttered instructions to leave Michael alone. She doesn’t get to call all the shots. If Michael is going to hurt, Luke is going to hurt with him. He slips his hand into Michael’s, and Michael instantly lets it go and wraps his arm around Luke’s shoulders instead, sideways so he can still face his mother’s grave. Luke hugs Michael’s waist and rests his head on Michael’s shoulder.   
   
“I miss you so much.” Michael’s voice shaky and breathy.  
  
“Tell her what happened,” Joy says, coming up behind them.   
  
“Dad hit me with his car,” Michael mumbles. He sounds more than ruined by it. He sounds  _ashamed_  of it, as if he thinks it’s his own fault.  
   
“What else?”  
   
“He used to hit me, after you died. With his fists. Then he kicked me out. Didn’t care if it meant I’d be homeless.”  
   
“Tell her why.”  
  
“He hates me for being gay.” Michael sounds so sad, so lost, and it breaks Luke’s heart. He hugs him a bit tighter, arms wrapped securely around Michael’s waist so Michael knows Luke isn’t going anywhere.  
  
Joy moves in a little closer and reaches up to pet Michael’s head, loving and motherly. “Now tell her why you don’t want to press charges.”  
  
Michael makes a small, choked, unhappy noise.  
   
“Do we have to do this?” Luke asks, helplessly.  
   
“I’m sorry,” Joy says softly. “He needs to. Tell her, Mikey.”  
   
“He … he’s your husband,” Michael whispers. Luke can hear the tears in his eyes in the way his voice quivers. “You loved him. He wasn’t always like this. He was supposed to take care of me, after you were gone. I can’t send him to jail. You’ll never forgive me.”  
   
Luke closes his eyes and feels like he might throw up again, for the millionth time in the last two days. Michael’s words hit him like a wrecking ball to the chest. He thought Michael wasn’t interested in the extra media attention that would undoubtedly come if he were involved in a trial against his father. Luke had no clue about the real reason, and it burns like fire on his skin. Even as an abstract thought.  
   
“That’s not true,” Luke tells him desperately. “Baby. You have to know that. She loved you. To the moon and back, right? It’s on your arm so you never forget.”  
   
Michael shakes his head and just crumbles into Luke’s arms, turning into him and collapsing against him, so Luke has to squeeze him and flex his muscles to keep Michael upright. Michael’s shoulders shake and his tears soaks into Luke’s shirt.   
   
Joys rubs Michael’s back from beside them. “Your mother was my best friend,” she tells Michael. “There is nothing in the  _universe_  she loved more than you. I wish you could have heard the way she talked about you. Michael, you were the light of her life. If she was alive to see the way he treated you after he found out you were gay, she would have taken you and left him and moved across the world if that’s what it took to get you away from him. If she knew what he did yesterday, she would have hunted him down and put a bullet between his eyes herself. Anything to keep you safe.”  
   
Michael grips him so tight, like the world will end if he lets go, and Luke hugs back with no intention of going anywhere. Ever. His sobs are soft and so broken in Luke’s ear, and tears build in Luke’s eyes too.  
   
“You aren’t alone, Michael.” Joy keeps touching his hair, half in the embrace with them. “You lost your parents, but you were never alone. You always had Cal, and us. And now, look at this. You have this boy. Look how much he loves you.”  
   
“I love you,” Luke repeats, for emphasis. He means it so much it hurts. “More than I could ever, ever tell you. We just want you to be safe. That’s why we need you to do this, Michael. We don’t want him to hurt you again, ever.”  
   
“Okay,” Michael breathes, the word whispered into Luke’s neck.   
   
“We’ll be right there with you, every step of the way,” Joy promises.  
   
“All of us,” Luke agrees. “You think anyone is gonna want to let you handle this on your own? You think Ashton and Brendan and all the guys won’t want to be there to support you? We’re a team. A family. Your family. It’s not the one you were born into but it’s the one you have now.”  
   
Michael nods, his skin wet against Luke’s.  
   
Joy kisses his cheek, and then says, “I’ll give you a few minutes,” and heads back to her car.  
   
“I wish I could’ve met her,” Luke says.   
  
Michael doesn’t need to ask who Luke is talking about. “I think she would’ve liked you.”  
  
“She would have been so proud of you, Michael,” Luke whispers. He nudges Michael’s face up so he can see his watery, red-rimmed eyes. Cupping Michael’s cheeks in his hands, Luke kisses his lips. It aches inside his chest to see Michael this upset. “I bet she is. I bet she’s looking down on you from somewhere and wishing she could tell you herself.”  
   
“Can we please go home now?” Michael asks, in a tiny voice.  
   
Luke nods. The last thing he wants is to put Michael through any more. Joy drives them back, and Michael goes straight back to Luke’s bedroom, not ready for anything else yet. Luke goes with him wordlessly, holding him close and stroking his hair as Michael shatters all over again.


	25. vingt-cinq

Michaels phone buzzes just as they’re about to head to the arena three days later, and he picks it up and converses in short, clipped tones, with a frown creasing his forehead. Luke makes eye contact with Ashton from across the room, thinking along the same lines as his friend if Ashton’s worried expression is any indication of his train of thought. It must be about Michael’s dad. Nothing else would make him look like that. Michael takes a few steps away from them, speaking quietly so Luke only makes out every third or fourth word and can’t follow the conversation. Ashton tries to smile at him reassuringly. It doesn’t really help. Luke lives in a constant state of anxiety these days. Michael does seem better, most of the time, since that first day. But Luke is still worried. He’s never loved anyone the way he loves Michael. He’s never cared so much about another person’s well-being. He’s never known what it’s like for it to matter so deeply that someone else is happy and safe.  
  
Sure enough, when Michael hangs up and Luke asks, Michael nods and says, “they found him. Took the car to a mechanic and the guy got suspicious when he saw the blood. What a fuckin’ tool. He’s, uh. He’s in custody.”  
  
Relief washes through Luke, and he goes to Michael and hugs him, not caring that it might wrinkle their suits. They’ll just take them off once they’re at the rink anyway. Or, Luke and Ashton will. Michael can’t play yet, with a cast on his wrist and cracked ribs, so he’ll be in the press box watching. Where Luke was, not so long ago. They’ve had bad luck, between the two of them, in the last few months.  
  
“What now?” Ashton asks.   
  
“I don’t know,” Michael answers, his voice muffled against Luke’s shoulder. Luke lets go of him so he can talk properly. “They’re gonna call me back later.”  
  
“Do you want me to stay with you?” Luke asks, even though they both know it’s an empty offer. He can’t.   
  
Michael shakes his head and puts on what he must consider a brave face. It isn’t entirely convincing. “We’ll deal with it later. You guys have a game to win.”  
   
There’s a short knock at the door before it opens and Calum pokes his head in. “Ready to go?” He glances between the three of them and then frowns. “What?”  
   
“They found Michael’s dad,” Ashton tells him quietly.  
   
Calum comes all the way in and jogs toward Michael, nearly crashing into him in his haste to pull Michael into a hug that’s probably tight enough to hurt Michael’s ribs. Luke winces but keeps his mouth shut.  
   
“It’s okay,” Michael says. “I’m okay.”  
   
Calum pulls back and looks into Michael’s eyes, and they have a whole conversation without words; meaning bouncing back and forth between their faces. Luke is jealous of their ability to do that. It comes from knowing someone for a lifetime, he supposes. Calum seems to decide Michael is telling the truth, because he nods. “Okay. We’ll handle it later, then.”  
   
“Yeah. Let’s just go.”  
  
It’s an important game, and Michael’s news could not have come a worse time. If they win tonight, they’re in the playoffs. Officially, put a stamp on it. If they don’t, it matters whether three or four other teams win or lose tomorrow and the next day, and they could still squeeze into a spot mathematically but Luke doesn’t want it that way. When it comes close at the end it whittles down to a numbers game, and Luke doesn’t want a numbers game. He wants to earn it. He doesn’t want to win only because somebody else lost.  
  
Luke doesn’t play particularly well. He doesn’t cost them, he doesn’t make any notably fatal mistakes, but he doesn’t help them much either. He’s distracted. The others notice, but no one says anything. Luke wonders how many of his teammates have figured out what he and Michael mean to each other; how many of them understand without having to be told why Luke’s head isn’t in the game tonight. Those who don’t have likely been threatened into leaving him alone, either by Ashton or Calum or Brendan. Or maybe all three. Luke wouldn’t put it past his friends. They win anyway, and Luke’s heart races and he celebrates with his teammates on the bench, but his thoughts are stuck with Michael up in the press box all alone. He should be here with them. He earned his spot on the bench, in the excitement and the camaraderie. He earned it despite his father’s best efforts to destroy Michael’s career before it had even begun. And then his father took it away from him all the same. He found a way to take it in the end. That’s what burns Luke up more than anything; that it feels, right now, like Michael’s father won.  
  
Michael does join them, later in the locker room, and he pulls Luke aside to promise he’s alright with a real, honest smile. He looks happy. Happy they won, happy they’re in the post-season. Luke believes him, and then can finally allow himself to relax.  
   
Calum invites everyone back to his place to celebrate, and not everyone goes but most do. It’s more fun than Luke’s had in a while. He feels like he’s forgotten how to be care-free lately, with everything that’s happened. Michael has too. Luke is still shy in big groups like this, but Michael isn’t anymore. Luke watches, as Michael pours people drinks and laughs and jokes and behaves just like the rest of them. Like one of the guys. He tries to give Brendan a piggy-back, despite vocal protests from Calum about his broken wrist, and they both fall in a heap on the couch when it turns out Calum is right and Michael isn’t strong enough right now to lift even Brendan’s smaller body. Everyone laughs, though, and Michael practically glows; soaking up the approval from his teammates that he craves so desperately.  
   
He wasn’t this person when Luke arrived in Montreal. August floats back into Luke’s mind, to the first party he went to in this building. He remembers clinging to Ashton, so unsure of where he fit in with his brand new team. He remembers finding Michael alone, in Brendan’s kitchen, on his phone while the rest of them had fun without him. Luke remembers questioning if anyone even noticed Michael wasn’t with them, and to this day doesn’t believe anyone did. Michael is different, now. The others are different, too. If Michael snuck out, he would be missed. Guys would wonder where he went, and be disappointed in his absence. Luke could burst.  
   
He manages to inconspicuously tug Michael off to the bathroom later, and pulls him into a deep kiss against the back of the closed door.  
   
“Hey,” Michael laughs. He pushes his fingers under Luke’s shirt, a habit he’s developed when they kiss, and the cast feels strange and foreign against Luke’s skin. A stark reminder of what they’ve lost, but maybe also of what they stand to gain, now that his father is in police custody.  
   
“I’m proud of you,” Luke tells him, sliding his fingers through Michael’s scarlet hair.  
   
“For what?” Michael asks, face caught between a smile and a frown.  
   
“Everything,” Luke answers, and kisses Michael again instead of elaborating.  
   
*           *           *  
   
“We’re in the playoffs,” Luke says. They clinched a spot officially days ago, but Luke hasn’t been able to get his head around it. “The actual, real, NHL playoffs. The ones the whole world watches. The ones my brothers and I used to watch on TV and dream about playing in.”  
   
He’s sitting with Ashton, in the empty stadium again, like they did after training camp ended. It feels like a nice set of book-ends. He sat here with Ashton before the season started, and now he’s sitting here with Ashton just after the season ended. It’s like coming full-circle. Nine calendar pages have gone by but Luke still isn’t used to the enormity of this place. He isn’t used to how strange it feels when it’s empty.  
   
“You’re gonna love it. The games are crazy. Way faster. The hits are harder. It’s just great hockey.”  
   
“Michael said the same thing.”  
   
“Speaking of Romeo. Where is he?”  
  
“Why am I the chick?” Luke isn’t really offended, he just thinks he probably should at least pretend to be.  
  
“The blond? I don’t know. Shockingly I didn’t actually think this metaphor through. But fine, have it your way, where’s Juliet?”  
  
“With Calum. Apparently they wanted bro time.” Luke was more than happy to come here with Ashton instead. He loves Michael with every inch of his soul, but this thing with Michael’s dad is something he and Calum have been dealing with together for years. For so long, it was just the two of them against the world. Calum was all Michael had. The only one he could confide in; be vulnerable with. The one who wiped blood and tears from Michael’s face, the one who saved him. They were both so young when it started. It isn’t something either should have ever had to deal with, but they lived through it together, and it came to an explosive head this week. It could have ended with Michael losing his life. They need some time to process it with each other, in the context of their shared history that Luke isn’t a part of.  
  
“Best friend date?”  
  
“Something like that.”  
   
“Good. I think Cal needed it.”  
   
“Did he say something to you?”  
   
“A few somethings, yeah.” Ashton frowns. “Everything is so fucked. But it’s good, that they’ve got some time.”  
   
Luke nods.  
  
“Well. And us too.” Ashton stretches his arm around the back of Luke’s chair. “How long is Michael out for?”  
  
“The rest of it, probably,” Luke says, not bothering to hide how bitter he is. They need Michael in the playoffs. This isn’t fair. “The wrist is a pretty bad break. They won’t clear him for at least a month.”  
  
“That fuckin’ sucks,” Ashton mutters.   
  
“Yep.”  
   
“How is he? Like. Inside.”  
  
Luke shrugs. “He’s okay I think. He’s used to stuff like this. Which is so awful I can’t even …”  
   
“What’s happening with his dad now? Since they found him?”  
  
“I don't know. He’s been charged. So I guess a trial. I don’t think it happens quickly. We have to go to the police station tonight. Or, Michael does.”  
  
“Why?”  
   
“So Michael can identify his dad as the guy driving the car. Like, formally. On the record. For evidence, or whatever.”  
  
“So he’s going to have to see his dad.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Shit. Do you think he’ll be alright?”  
   
Luke chews at his bottom lip, worrying the flesh between his teeth. “I really don’t know.”  
   
“So if you don’t come home tonight I’ll know it didn’t go well.”  
  
“I won’t come home either way. He needs me.”  
   
Ashton nods. “Good. That’s the answer I was lookin’ for.”  
   
“I don’t really know what else to do.”  
   
“This is exactly what you do. It’s like you told me with Lauren, a few months back. You can’t make the bad things go away. Just be there for him.”  
   
“I will.”  
   
They fall into relaxed silence for a minute or two, just surveying the building that’s become their home since they both got here, a few years apart from each other. Ashton is such a familiar, comforting presence by Luke’s side. He gives Luke some kind of solace when everything else is spinning too fast around them. Ashton is his anchor.  
   
“So. Looking back. How was the first year, all things considered?”  
  
“Incredible.” Luke shakes his head a little, still unable to wrap his head around it.   
  
“Impressed the hell outta everyone,” Ashton counts off on his long fingers, “scored a ton of goals, got an epic concussion, nominated for the Calder. Fell in love. Not a bad year at all.”  
  
Luke laughs quietly and bumps Ashton’s shoulder with his own. He’d almost forgotten about the nomination, in the mess of everything else that’s been going on. “Meeting you wasn’t so bad either, I guess.”   
  
“Aww.” Ashton laughs too, in that sparkly way of his.  
   
*           *           *  
   
Luke has been to a police station only once before in his life. He needed an official criminal record check for a volunteer position at a children’s summer camp when he was in junior high. He’d just sat in a cold, plastic chair, though, next to the reception desk, and waiting for a surly officer to bring him the piece of paper so he could be on his way. He’s certainly never been past the gate where civilians are allowed unescorted.  
   
Michael wouldn’t talk in the car, and now he’s pale and his jaw is set; his usually bright eyes empty and emotionless. He shuts down when it’s all too much to handle, like an off switch inside him has been flicked. Luke knows that about him after so many months. So he stays silent too, and just stays close while Michael tells the officer who he is and another one comes to the front to get them. Luke wants to hold Michael’s hand, but doesn’t, as they follow down a series of dull-colored halls to the holding cells. Michael’s dad is behind a glass door, slumped on the bench against the wall, looking dirty and ruffled and deservingly uncomfortable. Michael stiffens when he sees, and stops a good few yards away, but he nods sharply.  
   
“Yeah. That’s him,” he tells the officer.  
   
“The one driving the car that hit you?”  
   
“Yes.”  
   
“And he’s your father?” There’s a clipboard clutched in his big, meaty hands, with a form attached to it, and he scribbles while Michael talks.  
   
“He is. Is that all you need?”  
   
Michael’s dad doesn’t look over, although he must see them. The other cells are empty, and it isn’t very thick glass.  
   
“Do you want to talk to him?”  
   
Michael falters, and glances at Luke momentarily, but Luke can’t make that decision for him. He tries to smile reassuringly, tries to communicate without words that he supports whatever Michael wants to do.  
   
“Okay,” Michael says after a moment, and the officer presses a red button on the wall to turn on the speaker.  
   
“Hi Mike,” the man says, finally looking at them with that sickening smile Luke’s seen before. He uses the nickname Michael’s mother hated, likely on purpose, and Luke squeezes his molars together.  
   
“You’re going away this time,” Michael says quietly.  
   
The police officer takes a few steps away down the hall, still close enough to protect if anything happens but not eavesdropping. Luke just hovers next to Michael, not sure what Michael wants from him and hating the situation. The guy makes Luke’s skin crawl. He has since the first moment Luke saw him. Part of Luke wants to dive into the cell and rip the asshole to pieces himself for what he’s been doing to Michael for all these years. Luke’s heart still breaks to imagine the boy he loves, alone and scared and stuck within a nightmare at only fifteen.  
   
“We’ll see,” is said with a sneer.  
   
“No, we won’t.” Michael calmly steps a little closer to the glass. “You ran me over with a car. This isn’t a bruise or a cut that could easily be an injury from a game. I finally have the proof to put you away.”  
   
There’s no answer.  
   
“Look at you.” Michael shakes his head. “And you talk about how Mom would roll in her grave if she could see what  _I’ve_  become? I like dick, so what? Who the hell cares? You tried to murder your own son.”  
   
“So the fairy isn’t really a teammate, then, like you keep saying.” He nods in Luke’s direction, and Luke bristles and wants to punch him.  
   
For a moment, it looks like Michael is going to lose it and start yelling. He doesn’t, though. He reaches back for Luke’s hand, pulling him closer, and slipping his arm around Luke’s waist. Luke puts his over Michael’s shoulders.  
   
“This is Luke,” Michael says, quietly but deliberately. With impressive purpose. “He _is_  a teammate. He’s a forward. He was drafted this year. You can look it up, if you want, when you get computer time in jail. I’m not lying about that.”  
   
His dad rolls his eyes.  
   
“He’s also my boyfriend,” Michael continues.  
   
“Does the team know?”  
   
“Tell them if you want to. I don’t care anymore. I’m done letting you make me care.” Michael tosses his head toward Luke and smiles cockily. “You tried your damn hardest to beat this out of me but it didn’t work. He fucked me just last night. Had me on all fours and everything, and I  _loved_  it. You lost, Dad. And now you’re behind bars for it.”  
   
“You’re fucking disgusting.”  
   
“Yep. So think about that, while you rot in there. While you’re wasting away in a cell in a real jail. Think about his cock so far down my throat I can’t breathe. Making me his bitch, just like big muscley dudes will do to you in prison, only I’m loving every second of it.” Michael lets go of Luke in favor of stepping closer to the glass, because his father stood up and is squaring off with him on the other side of it. “Think about him fucking my ass, blowing his load inside me and then licking it out. Think about how you should’ve killed me when you had the chance.”  
   
“ _Fuck_  you!” his dad yells, losing his temper and slamming on the glass.  
   
“Go to Hell,” Michael says, calm and quiet. He grabs Luke’s hand again and starts walking away.  
   
“If they didn’t mind a faggot on their team before they sure as shit will once I tell them what you did to the rookie!” The words are spat angrily, vindictively, and Luke doesn’t mind this time. He feels like he could explode, in the best way.  
   
The police officer calls something after then but Michael doesn’t stop to listen, he just storms out of the station, dragging Luke behind him. He drives the route to home way too fast, and Luke doesn’t speak. He just rests his hand on Michael’s thigh. Michael pulls over suddenly, on the side of a deserted residential street. He throws the car into park with a muttered curse under his breath and leans over, bumping his head on the steering wheel. Luke’s heart leaps into his throat, the urge to fix this burning his skin. He reaches underneath Michael’s seat and lifts the little bar so he can shove the seat back all the way, to where a much taller person would have it. Then he unbuckles his seatbelt and climbs over into Michael’s lap, knees bracketing Michael’s hips and back pressed into the wheel.  
   
“It’s okay,” he says, resting his forehead on Michael’s, holding Michael’s face in his hands.  
   
“Fuck,” Michael mutters again. He curls his fingers around Luke’s hips and squeezes.  
   
“You did it,” Luke tells him.  
   
“I’m sorry.”  
   
“What? Why?”  
   
Michael shakes his head. His hands slide up and grip handfuls of Luke’s shirt. “Shouldn’t’ve said those things. Wasn’t fair to involve you.”  
   
“ _Stop_ ,” Luke says sharply. He kisses Michael to keep him quiet. “You think I care what he thinks? What he knows?”  
   
“What if he tells people?”  
   
“From a cell? How? And even if he did. I don’t care.”  
   
“Are you sure?”  
   
“I’m sure,” Luke whispers. He touches Michael’s bottom lip with his thumb. “You were amazing.”  
   
Michael’s eyes are closed and his eyebrows are stitched together, but he holds on to Luke, his arms around Luke’s waist. They stay like that for a while, long enough for Michael’s quickened breathing to slow and Luke’s heart to stop racing when he starts to believe Michael’s done freaking out.  
   
“Let’s go home,” Luke says, and Michael nods a little.  
   
Luke makes Michael switch seats so he can drive them the rest of the way home. Michael is quiet again and Luke doesn’t make him talk. He pulls Michael into the bedroom once the door is locked. With careful hands he undresses them both, wrapping Michael up in his arms once they’re both in Michael’s bed. Michael is shaking.  
  
“I am so, so proud of you,” Luke whispers.   
  
“Why didn’t he love me?” Michael asks helplessly. He sounds ruined.   
  
Luke blinks back tears. “I don’t know.”  
  
“I’m his kid. He was supposed to love me. I did everything he ever wanted. I made the NHL for fuck’s sake. That’s all he ever used to talk about, when Mom was alive.” His voice breaks, cracks over emotion he can barely contain, as hard as he fights against it. “Why wasn’t I good enough, Luke?”  
  
“You are. It’s because of something that’s wrong with him, not you,” Luke insists, needing Michael to understand. “You’re fine. You’re perfect.”  
  
“I’m not.”  
  
“Perfect for me. Fuck anyone else.”  
  
“You must be so tired of me lately. Always falling apart.”  
   
“Stop,” Luke soothes. He kisses the corner of Michael’s pink lips. “I’m not.”  
  
“I don’t deserve you.”  
  
“Yes you do. Don’t let him make you think you don’t. This … what we have, Michael, it’s everything. He’s taken so much from you, don’t let him have this too.”  
  
“Fuck me again, okay?” Michael asks, sounding desperate. “I wanna feel something.”   
  
“Michael,” Luke murmurs, sliding his fingers through soft hair. He isn’t refusing, it just doesn’t sound like a particularity healthy reason to want it. Luke can see where this is going already. Michael’s going to want it rough, careless. To distract from the pain inside. Luke isn’t going to let Michael hurt himself to stick it to his father.  
  
“No, I know. It’s not like that. I need you, please. I love you, need you to love me back. I just … I need someone to love me back.” He sounds so broken that Luke can’t turn him down.   
  
“I do,” Luke whispers. “Baby, I do. You know I do. So much, more than anything.”  
  
“Show me,” Michael begs, so Luke does.   
  
Michael is injured still so Luke does it gently. He rolls Michael onto his back and slides on top, blanketing Michael’s body with his own. His tongue finds its way between Michael’s parted lips, swirling in the sweet cavern of his mouth; tasting him, letting Michael taste Luke. He rolls his hips down, grinding slowly into Michael until they’re both hard and the space between them slippery. Michael responds to him so instantly, and it’s a high Luke hopes he never comes down from. He feels it in his bones, in the hard swell of arousal, the head-rush of having someone want him like this. The girls back home were nice and soft and they smelled nice, and it felt good in a chemical way when they touched him, but it was never like this. It was stale, mechanical. With Michael, it’s more. Maybe it’s because Luke loves him.  
   
Luke finds lube in the drawer beside Michael’s bed, working Michael open with slick, probing fingers. Michael wasn’t lying to his father; they did do this just last night, so it doesn’t take long before Michael is urging Luke on. Luke kisses him languidly, sliding into him and moving long and deep and easy. Michael clings to Luke the whole time, never allowing more than an inch of heated space between them. The cast is even stranger against Luke’s bare back, cold and rough and a heavier weight against his skin than Michael’s arm without it. Michael gasps into Luke’s ear and wraps his legs around Luke’s waist, moving with him in the rhythm they’ve perfected. He feels so good, his warm body underneath, muscles wrapped snug around Luke’s cock, and Luke wishes they could stay like this forever. Luke whispers to him, tells Michael he’s loved, and Michael whimpers and shivers and comes apart in Luke’s arms, beautiful and tragic, covered in the ashes of a life burnt to the ground.  
  
Luke falls into him when they’re done and spent and sticky and Michael shakes, like it hits him all over again. Like he’s finally letting himself feel everything that’s happened, and not just tonight. Everything that’s ever happened. The childhood that was stolen from him, the mother who was taken away, the love his father never gave him, the respect the world never treated him with. Luke can’t stop those things from having happened because he can’t go back, but he is going to piece Michael together again, brick by brick, for as long as Michael will let him. For the rest of his life, if that’s what Michael wants too.  
  
“I’m proud of you.” Luke breathes the words into Michael’s hair. He’s said it so many times in the last few days and each time he means it more than the last. “You stood up to him. He’s going away for a long time, and you’re successful and happy and  _loved_. You win, Michael.”  
   
“I win,” Michael repeats, in a tiny voice, trying to convince himself. “You love me, right?”  
   
“So much,” Luke promises. “More than anything, everything.”  
   
Michael nods and still clings to Luke like he’s afraid to let go, but whispers, “Okay.”


	26. vingt-six

Playoff hockey is everything Ashton said it would be, and nothing like what Luke was able to imagine before experiencing it. He’s watched it, year after year with his dad and his brothers, but he had no idea what it would really be like. It’s so, so fast. Luke can barely keep his head on straight during games. He feels like his brain isn’t capable of moving this quickly, like it’s just processed one sequence before the next one is already halfway over. They play the Senators first, their rivals from just down the river in Ottawa, and Luke gets hit like he’s in a boxing ring, over and over, every time he’s on the ice. Opposing players target him because he’s good, and every time he gets smushed into the boards and falls to the ice all Luke can think – beyond the pain – is of Michael, stuck up in the press box in the suits he hates wearing, cringing as he watches Luke crumple and panicking when Luke takes a few extra seconds to get up. Luke tries to look upwards toward where he knows Michael’s sitting every time, to wordlessly reassure Michael that he isn’t hurt, but he isn’t sure the message gets across. It’s not like he can wave. He’d look like a crazy person.  
   
“They’re all fucking over you,” Ashton complains, as Luke hobbles back to the bench after a particularly nasty check and doubles over, trying to catch his breath.  
   
“Fuckin’  _Karlsson_  is all over me,” Luke groans, referring to the other team’s Swedish-born Captain. He isn’t even a big guy. He’s a good six inches shorter than Luke is, but he’s ferocious, and Luke can’t get away from him. Luke’s never been very good at the physical elements of the game. His value lies in skating faster and handling the puck better and scoring more goals. He can’t body-check for shit; he’s never been able to.  
   
“I’ll handle him,” Calum says, his face dark and serious.  
   
“If you get yourself suspended, or fuckin’ hurt like Clifford …” Nathan warns, overhearing their conversation and leaning across Luke to threaten Calum.  
   
“Clifford didn’t get  _himself_  hurt, he was run over by a fucking lunatic in a car,” Calum snaps, glaring at Nathan. He’s been extra protective of Michael since it happened. “Excuse him for not being able to Spiderman his way out of that. How about I come after you in my Bently and see if you manage to escape without a scratch.”  
   
“Relax, Christ,” Ashton hisses. “That’s not what he meant.”  
   
“Will you calm your ass down? We can’t lose you too, idiot,” Nathan says, looking apologetic anyway. “That’s what I’m saying.”  
   
“If he fights back we’ll both go off for five,” Calum points out. He grins and claps Luke on the shoulder. “Then the new kid can put one behind Hammond while Karlsson is in the bin.”  
   
Calum hops over the boards before anyone else can argue, starting his next shift with a target on Karlsson’s back. It takes a couple purposely placed cheap shots, getting in the other player’s business when the puck is nowhere near either of them, for Karlsson to take the bait, and Luke watches anxiously as gloves are flung to the ice and punches are thrown. It isn’t a great back-and-forth. They sort of just spin on their skates, dodging each other’s fists successfully and then losing their balance and tumbling to the ice in a pile of limbs and skates. Both teams stand up and bang their sticks on the glass in appreciation of their respective teammate’s efforts, and Calum and Karlsson are escorted by linesmen to side-by-side penalty boxes, like Calum intended. Calum winks, cocky and self-satisfied, at Luke as he skates past.  
   
“Okay. That’s step one,” Nathan says. He nudges Luke’s arm. “Go out there and make step two happen, rookie.”  
   
“No pressure or anything,” Luke mumbles, rolling his eyes. He’s going to feel like an asshole if this doesn’t work.  
   
It does work, though. Twenty seconds into his first shift, Luke gets the puck on his stick and finds just an inch of room, between legs and sticks, and pockets the puck underneath Hammond’s left arm and into the mesh.  
   
“ _Fuck_  yeah,” Luke says to himself, smiling as the crowd erupts and the others on the ice in home jerseys crash into him in celebration.  
   
Later in the locker room, Calum gives him a brief, manly hug and says, “Bet Michael can’t wait to get you home and tell you how proud he is of you.”  
   
Luke blushes. “Shut up.”  
   
“I meant that in a not-at-all sexual way, but okay, good to know that’s instantly where your dirty mind goes,” Cal teases.  
   
“Shut up,” Luke says again. Then he sadly adds, “He should be down here with us. And out there.”  
   
“I know.” Calum presses his lips together, and anger flashes once again through his dark eyes. He forces a smile. “Next year.”  
   
Later still, Michael does tell Luke he’s proud, in the shower at Luke’s apartment, with his tongue in Luke’s mouth and his hand on Luke’s cock, while Ashton hammers on the door from the outside yelling about how they better not be having sex. Ashton gives up relatively quickly, and Luke and Michael ignore him and put their hands back on each other. Luke does make a mental note to at least try to keep it down. Usually they do. It’s nice of Ashton to let Michael stay here, and Luke doesn’t want to repay him by making him uncomfortable. He respects Ashton too much to do that to him.  
   
Michael hasn’t really gone home since the night he and Luke were at the police station. Kellin is here too, along with Michael’s toothbrush and a few piles of his clothes. He won’t specify a reason out loud but Luke knows it’s because he doesn’t want to be alone. He’s spending too much time on his own anyway, while the rest of them are only off the ice to sleep and eat and Michael isn’t allowed to join them. Ashton seems okay with it, in a for-now sort of way, and Luke thinks Calum likes it too. He doesn’t like Michael to be too far out of his sight lately. He’s always been like that – Luke saw it way back when he first got here, when Michael didn’t like him so Calum didn’t either for no reason other than blind loyalty – but in the last week or two it’s been so ferocious that Luke is in awe of their bond. He’s jealous of it, a little, but mostly he’s just happy Michael has someone who loves him as much as Cal does; who  _has_  loved him for so much longer than Luke has.   
   
“You were amazing,” Michael says for the fifteenth time. “So amazing. They knew you were the one to watch so they tried to shut you down, but you kicked ass anyway.”  
   
“We all missed you tonight.” Luke kisses Michael’s bottom lip as Michael’s fist slides over his heated, stiff flesh. The water and the soap on Michael’s hand makes the whole thing slippery and delicious.  
   
“I hated watching,” Michael admits.  
   
“I know.” There isn’t anything Luke can do to fix that, so he doesn’t try.  
   
“Stone is gonna be nominated for the Calder too,” Michael says, referencing the star rookie on the Ottawa Senators. “You’re gonna wipe the floor with him.”  
   
“I might not even get nominated.”  
   
“You have the most points out of any rookie this year. You will.” Michael seems so sure of it, that Luke wants to believe him.   
   
He wraps his other arm around Luke’s back – the plastic taped around his cast to keep it dry a strange feeling against Luke’s skin – encouraging Luke to fuck into his fist while they kiss, wet and messy, under the warm stream of water. Luke does, moaning into Michael’s mouth as he comes all over Michael’s belly, painting it white for just a moment before it’s all washed away down the drain. Michael is still hard against Luke’s hip so Luke kisses his lips one more time and then sinks to his knees, taking Michael into his mouth as he blinks up at Michael through wet eyelashes. Michael swears and has to hold the tile wall to steady himself.   
   
*           *           *  
   
They progress past the first round, ending the series against Ottawa with a decisive four wins against two, but lose in the second. Tampa Bay is too much for them. Luke is disappointed, but maybe not as much as he would be if things with Michael’s father hadn’t come to a tipping point so recently. He’s distracted, throughout all their games, and starkly aware that something important is missing on their bench without Michael. Luke thinks everyone is. What happened isn’t like a teammate getting injured in a game. That happens all the time. It happened to Luke, not that long ago. Michael’s situation is different, serious, and Luke thinks the whole team is suffering for his absence.  
   
In the end, he doesn’t mind so much. All things thrown in, this was still the best year of Luke’s life. Luke isn’t bothered that it didn’t end in a Stanley Cup ring. There’s always next year, like Calum said. It’s strange to think Luke’s first year in the NHL is officially over, but it’s amazing to think how soon he’ll be back here starting year number two. He can’t wait.  
   
*           *           *  
   
Luke gets nominated for the Calder Memorial Trophy, just like Michael was last year. The award for the league’s most outstanding rookie. Ashton and Calum nearly lose their minds when they find out. So do Luke’s brothers – he gets close to thirty texts in just a few minutes, and takes a phone call that consists mostly of Ben yelling nearly incoherently into the speaker and Jack yelling completely incoherently in the background.  
   
“I told everybody who would listen that you were gonna get this!” Ben shouts. “Now I get to rub their faces in the fact that I was right!”  
   
Luke grins even wider. “I’m really happy for you,” he says, mock-sarcastically.   
   
“We’re so excited!! We can come, right? To the thing?”  
   
“Yes!” Luke cries. “Of course! You fucking better! Mom and Dad too.”  
   
“Jack we’re going to Vegas!”   
   
“Strippers and cocaine all around!” Jack bellows, far away but still so loud Luke pulls the phone away from his ear and winces.   
   
“If he gets arrested I am not bailing his ass out of jail,” Luke tells Ben.   
   
“What, you wouldn’t spot your own flesh and blood a little chunk of your hockey millions?”   
   
Luke snorts. “You think I have millions? Are you not aware of how starting contracts work? Carey Price has millions. I have like. Thousands. Very small amounts of thousands.”  
   
“Well then get Price to spot us, he seems like a good dude.”  
   
“He’s an awesome dude, and he’s not spotting anyone anything because  _you_  are not allowed to let Jack get arrested. You’re the oldest. This is on you.”  
   
“Ugh, fine!” Ben yells, not really mad about it. “You used to be cool!”  
   
“When,” Luke deadpans, with another snort. “When was I ever.”  
   
“Okay never. But you will be now, when you win best rookie of 2015 and your name goes down in the damn hall of records!”  
   
“I don’t think there’s an actual hall.”  
   
“Irregardless!” Ben cries, and Luke doesn’t bother pointing out that it isn’t a real word. “We’re proud of you.”  
   
“Thanks.” Luke smiles so much his cheeks hurt.   
   
*           *           *  
   
Luke has never been to Las Vegas before. They spend almost a week there before the show, large groups of guys from nearly all the teams. It feels like they take over the whole city. Everywhere Luke goes he sees somebody else, players he’s admired for years and played against this year but never interacted with off the ice. He meets so many of his idols, hangs out with them, even, as if they’re equals – which technically they are, but Luke still doesn’t feel that way. He still feels like a dumb kid looking up to his heroes.  
   
Everybody is drunk and happy in Ashton’s hotel room the night before the show. Michael is semi-keeping his distance from Luke for the sake of appearance, but really, the way he looks at Luke, the way Luke knows he looks back, he doesn’t understand how the entire team hasn’t figured it out by now. Probably most of them have, they’re just holding their tongues about it. Luke sort of has a plan to change all that. Sort of. It’s just an idea he’s been mulling around in his head, trying to figure out if he’s brave enough to carry through on it.  
   
“You better fuckin’ win tomorrow!” Brendan informs him drunkenly, plastering himself against Luke’s side. Michael catches his eye from across the room, where he’s standing with Max and P.K., and Luke rolls his eyes. Michael smiles.  
   
“I’ll do my best,” he tells his intoxicated conjoined twin.   
   
“Because you  _know_  Price is gonna get the sweep,” Brendan continues, his words heavy on the vowels. Carey is nominated for four different awards, including the Hart Trophy for league MVP – only won by a goalie a handful of times in its hundred-year lifespan, and not for over a decade – and the chatter floating around is that he’ll take them all. Luke wouldn’t be surprised. He’s never encountered a goal-tender like Carey. Watching him is awe-inspiring.   
   
“He probably will, yeah.”  
   
“When are you gonna tell people you like Clifford’s big, fat – ”  
   
“Shh!” Luke cuts him off, clapping his hand over Brendan’s mouth and laughing nervously. “For fuck’s sake. That’s a secret, dude. You said you’d keep it, remember?”  
   
“Oh yeah. Sorry,” Brendan mumbles, the words muffled against Luke’s palm. He sticks his tongue out and licks it so Luke will let go, and Luke grimaces and wipes the spit off on his jeans. “My lips are sealed.”  
   
“So long as no one gives you more booze, anyway,” Luke complains. Hopefully Brendan is drunk enough that even if the topic is breached again, no one will believe him. Luke wants it done on his own terms.   
   
He escapes to the balcony after convincing Brendan to go bother Nathan instead. Luke isn’t as drunk as some, but he’s still tipsy and flushed and he wishes it was cool outside like it would be back in Montreal. The air on their rooftop patio would feel good on Luke’s heated cheeks right now. The air in Vegas is stale and hot and muggy, somehow dry and humid at the same time. It smells like the cigarette fumes from the casinos even thirty floors up. After a moment Ashton joins him, and then Michael and Calum trail not too far behind.   
   
“You guys are my best friends,” Calum sighs, a prominent slur to his words. He drapes one arm over Luke and one over Michael and leans on them.   
   
“What about me?” Ashton protests, giggling.  
   
“You are too. I only have two arms.”  
   
“I have an arm,” Luke tells Ashton, lifting it up and letting Ashton tuck himself under it.   
   
“You’re sweaty,” Ashton says.  
   
“So then don’t be part of the best friend cuddle.”  
   
“No.” Ashton giggles again and wraps his arms around Luke’s waist. “I don’t mind. I’m used to you sweaty.”  
   
“Gay,” Michael intones from the other end of the line.  
   
Luke and Calum crack up, and Ashton unnecessarily points out, “Ironic.”  
   
“That’s not irony. That’s just Michael being a bag of dicks.” Calum clears his throat, and then yells, “Vegas, baby!” out into the sea of neon lights, for no reason at all.   
   
“Woo!” Ashton cheers, loudly and really close to Luke’s ear. Luke doesn’t really remember what life was like before these three idiots, and he doesn’t want to.  
   
*           *           *  
   
The day of the awards show, they sort of lay low. Hang out at the pool, lie outside on lounge chairs in the sun, eat too much. It’s low-key and relaxing. They go to their separate rooms late in the afternoon to wash the sunblock and sweat off and dress for tonight. When Luke is ready, or at least as ready as he’s going to be, he goes across the hall and knocks on Michael’s door. It opens after a moment, revealing Michael in an untucked white dress shirt and a messily knotted black tie. His ties are always messy. Luke would have thought after wearing suits to every game for the last few years of his life Michael would have hang of it by now, but he doesn’t.  
   
“Whoa,” Michael says, eyes wide as he looks Luke up and down.  
   
Luke blushes and rolls his eyes. He pushes past Michael and walks into the room. “Shut up. You see me all done up literally four times a week, don’t act like I just came in here in a whipped cream bikini.”  
   
Michael chuckles and shuts the door. “Damn, that would be hot. Do that for me some time?”  
   
“I don’t think it works for dudes. I don’t have boobs. Also like. On the bottom it would just be a dick covered in foam. That’s not hot.”  
   
Laughing again, Michael catches Luke by the waist and pulls him in close enough to kiss the tip of his nose. “Depends on the dick.”  
   
“So romantic. You should write greeting cards.”  
   
“Are you nervous? You’re kinda being an ass.”  
   
“Oh.” Luke frowns and kisses Michael’s cheek, draping his arms over Michael’s shoulders. “Sorry. Um, yeah. A bit.”  
   
“Don’t be.”  
   
“Don’t be sorry or don’t be nervous?”  
   
“Both.” Michael brushes his lips over Luke’s lower one. “And you look beautiful.”  
   
Luke smiles. “Thank you. Want me to fix your tie?”  
   
“Yes, please.”  
   
Luke undoes it and starts again, twisting the slippery black material over itself carefully and folding it into a much neater knot. Michael is smiling at him when he’s done, something so strong and important shining in his green eyes that it’s overwhelming so Luke kisses him again to deflect.  
   
“Where’s your jacket?”  
   
Michael points to the bed; his turn to roll his eyes. “I will never stop hating monkey suits.”  
   
“You really gotta get used to wearing them, man, they’re practically our second uniform.”  
   
“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”  
   
Luke considers him for a moment, and then makes a decision. “So don’t wear it.”  
   
“You want me to go like this?” Michael gestures at himself, pressed white shirt and tie and dress pants. “I look like a waiter.”  
   
Luke goes to the closet, flips through a few items on hangers before he finds what he’s looking for. He’s glad Michael brought it. He pulls the jacket out and holds it up.  
   
Michael raises his pierced eyebrow. “Seriously?”  
   
“Why not?” Luke asks, entirely serious. It’s his favorite of Michael’s many leather jackets – the one with the metal studs on the shoulders. The one he wore the night of the Silverstein concert. It’s still one of the best nights of Luke’s life, even though Michael’s dad found them at a diner and called Luke a name he doesn’t even like repeating in his own head. It doesn’t bother Luke, so much, that word. But it bothers Michael.  
   
“Because this is a black tie event. Everybody else will be dressed up.”  
   
Luke walks over and steps behind Michael, helping him slip his arms into the jacket. “I don’t want you to look like everybody else. I want you to look like you.”   
   
He nudges Michael in the direction of a floor-length mirror on the opposite wall so they can survey his appearance, and Luke stands behind him and rests his chin on Michael’s shoulder.  
   
“I look like biker trash.”  
   
“You look gorgeous,” Luke corrects.  
   
“Your whole family is gonna be there. I mean, I know we’re not telling them yet, but still. You don’t want the first impression your parents have of me that I’m like …” Michael gestures aimlessly. “ _This_.”  
   
“Why would I want them to see you any other way?” Luke slides his arms around Michael’s waist and squeezes. “This is you. This is who I fell in love with. Tattoos and colored hair and ripped jeans is part of who you are. I want them to know you, exactly like this.”  
   
Michael smiles a little and his cheeks flush. “Now who should write greeting cards.”  
   
There’s loud hammering at the door, and Michael laughs as he pulls away from Luke and jogs to it. Their friends burst in like mini hurricanes, the clatter of voices loud and excited.  
   
“Are you really wearing that? Tell me you’re not wearing that,” Calum complains loudly, instantly upon seeing Michael.  
   
“Luke said it looked good!”  
   
“Luke is in love with you, he has to say that.”  
   
“No I don’t!” Luke protests. “I  _do_ think it looks good.”  
   
“You look awesome, Michael,” Carey offers, in his quiet, unassuming way. He’s in a tuxedo that belongs on a high-fashion runway – not that Luke would really know either way. “I wish I could pull that off.”  
   
“Thanks,” Michael says, tossing a smile in Carey’s direction and then a middle finger in Calum’s.  
   
“You turds ready, or do you need time to blow him, Cliff?” Brendan asks, eyes twinkling.  
   
“Nah, I blew him like a half hour ago,” Michael says with a casual shrug. He taps suggestively on his bottom lip. “Wanna taste? I haven’t brushed my teeth.”  
   
Ashton groans loudly, Luke cringes with his whole body, Carey’s eyes go wide and he quickly looks away, and Calum swats at Michael, hitting him hard on the shoulder. “Dude!”  
   
“What?” Michael chuckles. “He asked.”  
   
“I regret my entire life,” Brendan cries dramatically. He leaves the room, and Carey and Calum follow behind him.  
   
“You guys coming?” Ashton asks, pointing instantly at Michael as soon as the words are out of his mouth. “Don’t you dare.”  
   
Michael snickers. “I didn’t say anything!”  
   
Luke grins and shakes his head fondly. “We’ll be right there, okay?” he tells Ashton.  
   
When they’re alone again, Michael looks at him and raises an eyebrow. “You good?”  
   
Luke nods. He holds out his hand and Michael takes it, letting Luke pull him in for another kiss. Michael was joking about not having brushed his teeth; he tastes like peppermint when Luke slides their tongues together.  
   
“We gotta go,” Michael says reluctantly.  
   
“I’d rather stay here and fuck you in this jacket.”  
   
“Later.” Michael presses just one more kiss to Luke’s lips. “You deserve the chance to be up on that stage. You were the best this year. The whole world should know it.”  
   
“I might not win. And you were the best first,” Luke reminds him. He watched the NHL awards last year, when Michael won. His hair was lime green then. Ben and Jack thought it was stupid, but Luke thought it was brave.  
   
“Yes you will. And I know. Don’t you forget it.”


	27. vingt-sept

Being in the audience of an awards show is like being behind the scenes of a movie. Luke has watched this so many times, but he only saw what the television audience was supposed to see. Being there is so different; it’s a flurry of activity, getting presenters on and off the stage at the right moments, the timing of commercial breaks and musical interludes, producers running around with headsets and clip-boards, fighting against the ticking clock of a live broadcast to make sure everything goes as planned, and to quickly clean up after the things that don’t. It’s fascinating to watch. It’s like a hockey game. The bustle, the intensity, the panic, the razor-thin margin for error. Luke finds himself anxious for all kinds of reasons, only some of them relating to whether or not his name will be called later in the evening. Every time someone new takes to the stage Luke cringes and hopes they don’t trip and fall or flub their lines or accidentally swear and get in trouble, and starts to quickly dread the possibility of being up there himself for the same reasons. This business is not at all in Luke’s wheelhouse. He’s better on the ice. At least there, if he falls on his face, it’s okay because literally everyone does.  
  
Sidney Crosby introduces the nominees for Luke’s category. At this point, Luke really doesn’t care if he wins or not. It isn’t important. His first year here was more than he could have hoped for, and hearing the league’s best player say his name on live television would have Luke so starstruck he’s not sure he could get through an acceptance speech anyway. His head is spinning too fast.  
  
“The Calder Memorial Trophy is awarded each year to the rookie who demonstrated excellence in the game, and who became invaluable to their team in the regular season,” Sidney is saying, somewhat awkwardly holding the black, puck-shaped box that contains the winner’s name. He doesn’t look particularly comfortable on the stage either, and the thought calms Luke a little. “This year’s nominees are all outstanding players, every one of them worthy of recognition. Let’s learn a little bit about them.”  
  
The lights dim, and a short video plays, announcing Luke and the others. Mark Stone, Johnny Gaureau, Aaron Ekblad; players Luke has nothing but admiration for. The part of his personality that was always taught to be humble and unassuming doesn’t really think he belongs in the same category as them. Michael squeezes his thigh, the motion hidden under the cover of temporary darkness in the room. So far Michael hasn’t touched him, and Luke’s kept his hands to himself as well. It isn’t a safe space – the place crawling with cameras.  
  
The room brightens as the lights come back on, and Sidney smiles into the camera pointing at him. He opens the box. “And the winner is … Luke Hemmings, of the Montreal Canadiens!”  
  
Luke’s heart stops. For a moment, he forgets how to breathe. Everything goes fuzzy, just for a second or two, while noise erupts around him in the form of his teammates cheering. It sounds like white noise to Luke’s ears. He can’t think, and he feels like he’s going to throw up.  
  
“Hey!” Calum’s voice says, on Luke’s left side, nudging him on the shoulder. “Dude, wake up. You gotta go up there.”  
  
“Can you go for me?” Luke croaks.  
  
Calum laughs. “No, I can’t. Go. You’ll be fine.”  
  
“Oh my God,” Luke breathes. He’s terrified.  
  
“I love you,” Michael whispers in his ear, covering for it by giving Luke a very platonic hug and then shoving him up out of his chair.  
  
Luke is numb as he walks down the aisle toward the stage, where  _Sidney Crosby_ is standing, holding a trophy in his hands and waiting for Luke to accept it. All Luke can concentrate on is not tripping over his own feet as he climbs the four or five steps up to the stage.  
  
“Congratulations,” Sidney says, handing Luke the trophy and shaking his hand heartily.  
  
Luke blinks at him and only manages a nod. Sidney gestures toward the microphone when he realizes Luke has forgotten what he’s doing up here, and then pats him on the back comfortingly. It was only a few years ago that he was up here, accepting the very award Luke is clutching in his hands, after blowing all expectations out of the water in his historic rookie year. There’s a distinct possibility Luke is dreaming.  
  
The lights are so bright that Luke can’t see the crowd very well, and it’s a blessing because it feels a little less like he’s speaking to a room filled with hundreds of people. Even still his heart is beating so fast it makes him dizzy, but Luke forces himself to speak.  
  
“Hi,” Luke says, laughing nervously when he says it too close to the microphone and the thing rings with high-pitched feedback. “Crap, sorry.”  
  
A voice that sounds like Brendan’s calls out, “Take it off!”  
  
The audience cracks up, and so does Luke. Laughing eases his nerves, which was probably Brendan’s intention. He’s a good friend. They all are.  
  
“Later, babe,” he jokes back, and enjoys the continued laughter from the crowd. “Okay, but for real. This is … honestly I don’t have the right words. I wish I’d paid more attention in school. I was always too busy daydreaming about getting back on the ice. This is amazing. A year ago I was just a small town kid, looking up to everyone in this room. I want to thank my family, my mom and dad and my brothers, Jack and Ben. For picking up and moving to a new town three times so I could play, and never complaining that they had to leave their whole life behind for me.”  
  
Luke looks out into the sea of shadowy faces, and can just barely catch sight of his mom when he squints, seated with the rest of Luke’s family near the back. There are tears in her eyes. Luke swallows and tries not to let it affect him.  
  
“I wanna thank my mom for driving me to the rink every morning before the sun was even up. My dad for training with me, turning me into the athlete I am now. My brothers for being into hockey first, and for not being too annoyed when I wanted to copy them.”  
  
There’s another low rumble of polite laughter. Luke bets there are a lot of people in this room with big brothers who played first.  
  
“I wanna thank my team,” he continues. “You guys are the reason I’m up here.”  
  
Someone whistles and someone else yells a loud, obnoxious, “Whoo!!” Luke would be willing to bet it’s Calum and Ashton, even though he can’t see them past the spotlights – they’re sitting too close. He wishes he could see Michael’s face.  
  
“I want to thank Coach Therrien, and all the staff of the Canadiens. For believing in me and letting me play and giving me the chance to win this. And I …” Luke pauses and presses his lips together. He wants to do this. He needs to. But he’s still scared. “I want to thank someone really special, who’s also here tonight. He believed in me too and he helped me get here, he helped me be the person I became this year. My, uh. My boyfriend, Michael Clifford.”  
  
A soft hush descends on the room, the terrifying rustle of whispers, and Luke doesn’t stick around to let them decide to start throwing tomatoes. He holds up the trophy, says one more quick, “Thanks everyone,” in a strained, squeaky voice, and exits the stage as gracefully as he can with his heart in his throat.  
  
He doesn’t make eye contact with anyone as he walks back to the table where his teammates are sitting. He’ll have to deal with his family later, but his boys are first. They’re all looking at him when he walks up, varying expressions on their faces. A few of them look shocked; others look not-so-shocked like maybe they’ve suspected for a while. Calum and Ashton and Brendan have the biggest, dumbest smiles on their faces, the three of them sitting side-by-side in a row like cartoon characters, wearing the exact same over-stated grin.  
  
Mostly the only face Luke cares about is Michael’s. Michael is looking at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks – he looks a lot like how Luke feels.  
  
“Hey,” Luke says, taking his seat next to Michael again.  
  
“Did you really just do that?” Michael asks quietly.  
  
“Is it okay that I did?” Luke bites his lip in uncertainty.  
  
Michael laughs a little like he can’t believe it, and nods. “Yeah. If you’re okay with it.”  
  
Luke shrugs and smiles at him. “It’s too late now anyway, right? It’s done, so.”  
  
“Kiss him,” Brendan goads, so Luke does. He cups Michael’s cheek in his hand, and brings their lips together.  
  
Approving whistles and cheers erupt around then, followed by a harsh shushing noise, and then suddenly Luke is very aware that the rest of the room is looking in their direction too. Some people are straining their necks, trying to see, but most are glaring because the next award is being presented and their section is making noise.  
  
“Oops.” Luke stops kissing Michael and grimaces apologetically at his teammates – he finds similar expressions on their faces too. They all keep quiet after that. Luke doesn’t move away from Michael, though. Michael slips his arm around Luke’s shoulders and Luke leans into him, enjoying the feel of Michael against him, warm and familiar, in a space where everyone can see them. Luke is proud of Michael, of them. His heart is still going too fast, but underneath the nerves he’s excited to finally be able to let the world see that.  
  
When it’s over, the final ‘cut’ called and the house lights brought back up, Luke finds his family in the lobby of the MGM Grand. He waves at them uneasily as he walks toward them. He isn’t really worried that they’ll be mad, or they’ll react the way Michael’s dad did. Luke knows they love him. It’s just uncomfortable. And, this probably isn’t how they should have found out. He probably should have worked up the courage to tell them a long time ago.  
  
“Hi baby.” Liz wraps him up in a warm hug. Luke hugs back, burying his face in her shoulder for just a moment. “We’re so proud of you.”  
  
“Thanks,” Luke says, mostly managing to keep his voice from shaking.  
  
“Congrats, kiddo!” Jack adds, and Luke lets go of his mom and makes the rounds, hugging his dad and his brothers. Jack and Ben both ruffle his hair, intentionally messing it up, and Luke smiles and doesn’t mind because it’s comforting that some things don’t change.  
  
“You deserved this,” Andy tells him. “We were the talk of the town this year, let me tell you. You’re already a legend. We couldn’t be prouder.”  
  
Luke flushes a little at the praise but still enjoys it. He’s always been more desperate for approval than maybe he should be. It comes from being the youngest sibling, probably. “So. Um. We don’t have to pretend that didn’t happen,” he says, nodding in the direction of the stage.  
  
He surveys his family’s faces. Jack and Ben have dopey smiles on their faces. They’ve been waiting for this, waiting to be able to stop lying to their parents. Andy and Liz look unsure, like they’re not sure how they’re supposed to react. Like they don’t want to say the wrong thing.  
  
“Are you happy?” Liz asks. It sounds careful.  
  
Luke nods. “Yes. Very.”  
  
“He’s good to you?”  
  
“He is.”  
  
“Okay. Well that’s what matters, then,” she concludes, as if it’s all so simple, looking back at the rest of her family in expectation of their unquestioning agreement. Luke wants to hug her again.  
  
“You’re our son,” Andy says. “We love you no matter what.”  
  
“Us, too,” Ben adds, and Jack nods. That much, Luke already knew. He’s glad, though, that Ben and Jack aren’t making an issue about the fact that they already knew. Luke knows his mom would be hurt by it.  
  
“Thanks.” Luke wishes this wasn’t uncomfortable. He knows one day, it won’t be.  
  
“Can we meet him?” Liz asks.  
  
“If you don’t embarrass me.”  
  
“Like there’s any chance of that,” Jack jokes, and Liz smacks him lightly on the arm.  
  
Luke wanders off, scanning the crowd for blood-red hair, and locates it quickly because he stands out like a sore thumb. Michael is standing in a circle, talking with Carey and Max and two players from the Penguins that Luke recognizes. He’s smiling and laughing with them, and Luke is so pleased with how far he’s come this year. He approaches from behind and slips his hand into Michael’s. He already likes how this feels, being out. Being free. It fills him with a strange sense of calm, to find out he doesn’t care as much about what other people think as he thought he did. Luke is proud of himself, too.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
“Hi!” Michael says brightly. “Have you met Kris Ketang and Evgeni Malkin?”  
  
“Not off the ice.” Luke shakes both their hands briefly.  
  
“That took some serious stones, up there,” Kris says.  
  
“You’re very brave,” Evgeni adds, in a thick Russian accent that makes it sound like his mouth is filled with cotton balls.  
  
“Thank you,” Luke says sincerely, and then to Michael, “Can I borrow you for a minute?”  
  
“Sure.” Michael smiles at the others and then lets Luke lead him in the direction of his family. “Am I meeting the parents?”  
  
“Is that okay?”  
  
“Yep. Can’t wait.”  
  
Luke squeezes his hand. His family is exactly where he left them, and he watches his mom and dad take in the sight-to-behold that is Michael – his hair and his leather jacket and his pierced eyebrow. Luke holds back a smile by pressing his lips together. They’ve seen him before, on TV, but Michael makes a significantly stronger impression in person, without even saying a word.  
  
“This is Michael,” Luke tells them, still holding his hand. “Michael, this is my mom and dad, and my brothers.”  
  
“Hi,” Michael says, sounding shy. It’s a side of him that Luke has never encountered. Usually Michael is brimming with confidence, with an attitude that dares someone to have a problem with him. “It’s so great you guys could be here.”  
  
“Very nice to meet you, Michael,” Andy says, reaching out and shaking Michael’s hand.  
  
“Luke talks about you all the time,” Michael tells the four of them, and then turns to address Liz specifically. “Especially you. I, um. I lost my mother, a few years back. I like when Luke tells me about you. It helps me remember her.”  
  
“Oh.” Liz frowns deeply and her eyes go instantly shiny. “Oh honey, I’m so sorry.”  
  
Michael shrugs. “It was a long time ago.”  
  
Liz shakes her head, and pulls Michael into a hug just as warm as the one she gave Luke earlier. Michael hesitates for just a breath, surprised by it, and then hugs back. Liz puts her hand on Michael’s cheek when they break apart, looking up at him. “Any time you need mothering, you just come to me, okay? I’d be more than happy to nag at you to pick up your dirty socks.”  
  
Michael laughs. “Thanks. I will.”  
  
There’s a party in an enormous, resplendent ballroom at the hotel, with alcohol and loud music and dancing. It’s really, really fun. Luke doesn’t ever remember seeing Michael quite this happy, and he wonders how much hiding had been affecting Michael all this time. Luke never gave it a second thought until just now, and it makes him wish he’d found the nerve to come out months ago. He can’t go back and change it, but he promises himself that from this moment on he isn’t holding an inch of himself back.  
  
“I like him,” Liz says. She’s standing with Luke in one corner of the room, taking a break from the dance floor. Michael is doing a ridiculously terrible tango with Max’s wife, while Max laughs and takes pictures.  
  
Luke nods in the direction of the door, and Liz follows him out into the hall, where it’s cooler and quiet so they can talk. He finds a set of armchairs and a couch in a small nook, and he sits on the loveseat so she can sit beside him. “Really? You do?”  
  
“Really. He seems lovely.” Liz leans on him, and Luke puts his arm around her and hugs her sideways. She smells like home.  
  
Luke smiles and feels warm inside. “I should have told you sooner.”  
  
“Why did you think you couldn’t?” Liz asks, after a pause.  
  
“It’s not that … I just. I didn’t know how. It isn’t an easy thing, to …” Luke trails off, lamely letting the sentence fall flat.  
  
“I know, baby,” Liz soothes.  
  
“You and Dad … you had a future in mind for me, y’know?” Luke mumbles. Emotion tightens his throat. “Like. A wedding and a wife and kids and …”  
  
“You think this changes any of that? I still expect grand-babies.”  
  
Luke laughs. “I’m 18.”  
  
“Well, not  _tomorrow_. Some day.”  
  
“Okay. Some day.”  
  
“What happened to his mother?”  
  
“Cancer.” Luke bites his lip, and hopes it’s okay to spill Michael’s secrets to a woman he met an hour ago. He knows his mom well enough, though, to know she’ll keep it to herself. “And his dad is in jail.”  
  
Liz sits up and gapes at him, aghast at the news. “For what?”  
  
“He beat Michael after his mom died. Because he’s gay, and his dad didn’t like that. And a month ago he hit Michael with a car.”  
  
Hands fly up to cover Liz’s mouth, and her blue eyes are wide and shiny again. “That poor boy. And you, you’ve been dealing with this all this time on your own? If I’d known …”  
  
“We dealt with it together. And Ashton, too. And the other guys.”  
  
Liz just shakes her head, like she can’t quite process the information. She leans into Luke again, kissing his shoulder through the material of his suit jacket. “What Hell for him to grow up in. No wonder you were scared to tell me.”  
  
“I never thought you’d hit me over it.”  
  
“Never,” Liz confirms. “Never in a million years. We love you, no matter who you are.”  
  
“It just … you don’t care? That he’s … a he?”  
  
Liz shakes her head, like the very suggestion is absurd. “I was watching him, earlier. He looks at you like he’s in love. Like you’re the star his world revolves around. That’s the root of everything I ever wanted for you. The rest is details.”  
  
*           *           *  
  
Luke and Michael get back on a plane to Montreal as soon as the party begins to wind down. Luke needs to pack up his things, so he can head home for the summer. He hugged Ashton so tightly before they left – he won’t see his roommate and best friend for at least a month, and Luke is going to miss him like crazy. They arrive early in the morning, before the sun is even up. Michael lets them drop their bags off but doesn’t even allow time to change their clothes before he’s pulling Luke out again, into the navy blue light of just before sunrise. Luke is exhausted and just wants to collapse into bed, but he hasn’t figured out yet how to say no to Michael.  
  
“Where are you taking me?” Luke asks, as Michael leads him down dark streets and eerily empty sidewalks. “I feel like I’m on my way to my own murder.”  
  
“Don’t you trust me?”  
  
“Not farther than I could throw you,” Luke jokes, and when Michael makes an offended noise, he adds, “I’m kidding. Of course I do. Doesn’t stop this from being super creepy, though.”  
  
“That’s what makes it exciting,” Michael informs him.  
  
They end up under a bridge, in a secluded spot that looks out over the river and the trees and the night sky, stars and moon reflected in the still water.  
  
“This is my favorite spot in the whole city,” Michael says. “I used to come here all the time, last year, just to escape from everything. And at the beginning of this year, too. I like sitting here at night. Feels like … no one in the whole world knows where you are. I liked that.”  
  
“It’s beautiful,” Luke agrees. “Why is this the first time you’re bringing me here, if it’s your favorite spot?”  
  
“Because it was my favorite spot to get away from my life, when it sucked. And this year … after I met you, I didn’t want to get away anymore.”  
  
Luke blinks and nods, feelings rising thick in his throat. He holds Michael’s hand. Michael leads him up the paved incline, and they sit on the concrete just under the bottom of the bridge. When cars drive by overhead, the air around them rumbles and vibrates. Michael slides his arm around Luke’s waist, his fingers slipping up under Luke’s un-tucked dress shirt to get at his skin. Luke leans against him, resting his head on Michael’s shoulder.  
  
“I love you,” Michael says softly.  
  
“I know you do,” Luke answers. “I love you back. So much.”  
  
Michael turns his head just enough to kiss Luke’s forehead. “And I’m so proud of you. For tonight, and for everything.”  
  
“Everything good that happened to me this year happened because of you,” Luke tells him.  
  
“That’s not true.”  
  
“It kinda is. Everything changed when I fell for you. I’m so happy I did.”  
  
Michael nods. “I am, too.”  
  
He gets his other arm around Luke too, and Luke kisses his neck and whispers, “Love you.”  
  
“You already said that.” The smile on his face bleeds into the tone of his voice.  
  
“I know. I wanted to say it again.”  
  
“Okay. I love you too, then. Again. Or, still, or whatever.”  
  
“What are you doing for the summer?” Luke asks. They haven’t discussed that yet, even though they should have. Most people go home, to see their families. Michael doesn’t have a family. Not one that he’d want to spend time with, anyway.  
  
“I’ll spend some time at Cal’s. But also just staying here, probably. That’s what I did last year.”  
  
“Come stay with me. In Ohio. At least for some of it.”  
  
Michael pauses. “Would your parents be okay with that?”  
  
Luke shrugs. “I mean, I’ll have to ask, but I think so. My mum’s already kinda considering adopting you.”  
  
Michael laughs. “Okay, but we can’t be siblings, though. ‘Cause then I couldn’t fuck you. And I like fucking you.”  
  
Luke hums, and rubs his face against Michael’s neck. “Me too.”  
  
“Fuck, your nose is cold,” Michael laughs.  
  
“So come, okay? I want my family to get to know you. ‘Cause I know they’ll love you.”  
  
“Alright.” Michael smiles against Luke’s temple. “I’d like that.”  
  
“Good.”


	28. vingt-huit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I added one more chapter because this one ended up a lot longer than I was expecting it to.)

Luke hasn’t seen Michael in a few weeks, and he practically bounces in his seat in anticipation.   
  
Michael did come to stay with the Luke’s family, earlier in the summer. It was a bit strange at first. Luke’s brought a girl or two over for dinner, back when he was in high school and he dated girls because everyone else did, and that was weird too but in a different way. That was what’s supposed to happen. Luke’s family was wonderful, happily welcoming Michael into their home and really trying not to be awkward about it, but it was still a bit uncomfortable. It was weird to have Luke’s world with Michael collide with his other life. It was weird to have Michael sleep in his childhood bed with him, and to get up in the mornings and sit and eat breakfast with his parents and his brothers, everyone aware of what had probably gone on the night before in that bed.   
  
At first Luke refused to do anything further than kiss Michael in his house, too freaked out at the idea of his family knowing about it if they did anything else. His iron will turned to mush pretty quickly. Having Michael next to him in a bed isn’t something Luke was really prepared to handle without being able to touch. On one memorable night, Michael huddled under Luke’s sheets and lied between his legs and sucked him off so slowly and thoroughly Luke forgot to be quiet about it. His parents didn’t act in any way like they knew the next day, but Jack’s room is next to Luke’s and he definitely heard. He made ridiculous eyes at Luke at breakfast in the morning, and found him alone later in the afternoon to give him brotherly shit for it.   
  
“You had some fun last night,” he’d teased, elbowing Luke in the side.   
  
Luke had groaned and blushed and buried his burning face in his hands. “Fuck. I’m sorry.”  
  
Jack had just shrugged. “Don’t be. It’s not like Ben and I haven’t had our dicks sucked in this house.”  
  
“How did you – ?”  
  
“Because you wouldn’t shut up about it.” Jack had imitated Luke in a high pitched voice that sounded nothing like him. “Oh, Michael, just like that. Fuck, your tongue, right there.”  
  
“Oh my  _God_.” Luke wanted to die right there on the spot. He wanted the earth to open up like in a movie about Hell and suck him down into the pit.   
  
“Dude, I’m kidding. You two are sweet together, when you’re not keeping me up at night. I’m happy you’re happy.”  
  
Luke had managed a small smile. “Yeah. Me too.”  
  
“What are we talking about?” Michael had asked, joining them and flopping down onto the couch beside Luke. He’d slipped an arm over Luke’s shoulders – getting comfortable fairly quickly with the fact that Luke’s family didn’t mind if they acted like a couple.   
  
“You,” Luke had said, leaning into him and hoping Jack would have the sense to leave it at that. He did, that time.   
  
The next night Michael climbed into Luke’s lap to ride him, their moans carefully stifled into each other’s lips while they kissed and with hands pressed over mouths because Michael is loud when he comes.   
  
Michael fit really well into Luke’s family. Ben and Jack treated him like a fourth brother, Andy had fun with someone who’s nearly as big a hockey fan as he is, and Liz fussed over him. Since she found out Michael is essentially an orphan, it became her goal to mother him so much he’d regret ever telling her. Michael seemed to like it, though.   
  
It was really fun, in the end. It was fun to have Michael get to know his family. It was fun to have him there for Luke’s 19 th birthday. It was freeing, for Luke, to be with Michael around his family and out in public and not need to hide. It was unlocking a part of himself, taking off the chains and just being who he is. He still isn’t always so good at not caring what people think. Sometimes the looks they’d get, the whispers, would get under Luke’s skin. But then Michael would take his hand or kiss his cheek reassuringly, letting Luke know he wasn’t alone, and it gave Luke strength to hold his head up.   
  
Then Michael left, wanting to give Luke some time alone with his family and needing to spend some time with Calum and jJoy and Mali and David – Michael’s own version of a family, adopted but still real – and so Luke hasn’t seen him in almost a month. He misses his boyfriend like a limb. Training camp starts soon, and a few guys are heading back early for a charity golf tournament the team participates in every summer. Luke isn’t very good at golfing still, in spite of Ashton’s best efforts, but he’s happy to play anyway since it’s for the Children’s Hospital. Most of the players Luke became close with last season will be there, and he’s excited to see his friends again, almost as much as he’s excited to see Michael.   
  
He’s nervous, too. They’ve technically been out of the closet for the whole summer, but then they left the city, and thankfully reporters didn’t bother tracking Luke down at his parents’ house to stick cameras into his personal life. Now, though, it’s all going to come to a head. There will be a red carpet, or as close to one as hockey players ever get, and interviews and news crews and people from TSN and ESPN, and Luke and Michael will be there, together, for the first time as an official couple since Luke spilled their secret in June. Michael is used to this, but Luke isn’t. He isn’t looking forward to that part of it.   
  
Michael and Ashton are both waiting at the airport for him. Luke never assumes his friends are going to pick him up but someone almost always does. He spies them as he comes down the escalator, expecting to be able to spot Michael’s stop-sign red hair from a mile away, but instead it’s Ashton waving like a dork that catches Luke’s eye, and it’s only after that he notices the boy by Ashton’s side has a mop of platinum blond hair on his head now, so pale it’s almost as white as his skin. Luke coughs to cover up the way he nearly swallows his own tongue.  
   
Ashton gets to him first, because he’s a million times more willing to make a fool of himself than Michael is, jumping up and down to get Luke’s attention and running at him, dodging through the crowd in his haste to drag Luke fervently into his arms. Luke laughs like a crazy person, both at Ashton and with him, and hugs his friend back. There are camera flashes in Luke’s peripheral vision but he doesn’t care at all. Maybe there will be headlines tomorrow about how Luke is cheating on Michael with the team captain. Luke almost hopes there is. Let them write what they want. Their words have no bearing on the truth of anything, and Luke is really trying to learn not to care what the world thinks.  
   
“I missed you!” Ashton yells.  
   
“It’s barely been a month,” Luke points out, giggling, but it’s pure deflection. He missed Ashton too.  
   
Michael stands behind them, cool as ever in black leather and a Rolling Stones shirt. The bright red tongue and lips of the logo would have matched his old hair perfectly, but now – Luke steps around Ashton to get to his boyfriend and pulls him in close to examine it.  
   
“Holy shit,” he says, taking in the white-blond strands against Michael’s pale skin. The lack of color makes his bright green eyes stand out and his lips look more scarlet than normal thanks to the stark contrast. “Did you dunk your head in a bucket of bleach? Was this on purpose?”  
   
Michael frowns. “Does it look bad?”  
   
“What?” Luke laughs. “No! Michael, it looks amazing.”  
   
“Yeah?” Michael asks, a shy smile curving his lips. He looks up at Luke hopefully through long, thick eyelashes, sweet and bashful in the way that he only ever is with Luke, when he lets his guard down a little.  
   
“So fucking good,” Luke promises him, and the smile Michael gives him lights up his whole face.  
   
He really, really wants to kiss Michael right now, but there are eyes on them and, as much progress as Luke’s made recently, he’s not quite there yet.  
   
“What did your parents say when you told them about you and Clifford?” a nasal-voiced male reporter asks Luke as the three of them make their way out of the airport.  
   
“Ignore them,” Michael voice says, low and close to Luke’s ear, with his hand on the small of Luke’s back.  
   
“You have brothers, right Luke?” a female asks. “Was this hard for them to accept? Were things uncomfortable at home?”  
   
Luke clenches his jaw in anger but follows Michael’s advice and stubbornly refuses to even make eye contact.  
   
Ashton is flanked on Luke’s other side, like bodyguards, like they came in a pair of two on purpose so they could protect Luke from this. A tall man with a camera pushes it into Luke’s face and Ashton shoves it away, glaring at the guy and stepping in closer to Luke. They make it outside and to the parking lot and into Ashton’s Station Wagon without incident; only a few more rude, intrusive questions that leave a pit burning in Luke’s stomach because he wants nothing more than to scream at these people but he knows he can’t. It wouldn’t do any good. Michael sits in the back seat, and he sits forward on it so he can wrap his arms around Luke’s shoulders from behind, resting his chin on Luke’s shoulder.  
   
“They’ll get bored eventually.”  
   
“They’ve been treating you like shit for so long,” Luke says, tipping his head sideways to touch Michael’s. “It makes me crazy.”  
   
“Doesn’t matter.” Michael kisses Luke’s cheek. “I’m happy you’re here.”  
   
“Aww,” Ashton giggles.  
   
Michael reaches over and gently swats the side of his head. “Can it, Irwin.”  
   
“Hey, you guys are being cute in my car, I’m allowed to notice.”  
   
“What’s happening with your dad?” Luke asks Michael. The last he heard, they were waiting for a court date.  
   
Michael tenses a little, and Luke hooks his fingers over Michael’s arm where it’s wrapped across his chest. “Two weeks. Just before training camp starts. It’s shitty timing.”  
   
“There probably isn’t ever a  _good_  time for something like this,” Ashton says sympathetically.  
   
“He’s gonna go away, Mikey,” Luke promises.  
   
“I know.”  
   
“Can I do anything?”  
   
“My lawyer thought maybe you could, um. Testify. Like, as a character witness, or whatever.” Michael sounds like he wishes he didn’t have to ask. “Calum, too. He wants to establish … how did he put it. A history of damaging behavior. It’s stupid.”  
   
“It isn’t stupid. That’s what he did. And of course I will.”  
   
Ashton clears his throat softly and looks away, staring purposely only out the front window as he drives, trying to give them privacy even though he’s sitting a foot away.  
   
Luke turns in his seat, twisting around at the waist so he can hold Michael’s cheeks in his palms and kiss him. “He hurt you for the last time,” he murmurs. “Never again, even if I have to wrestle him into a cell myself. Then I’m gonna spend the rest of forever convincing you that you didn’t deserve the way he treated you.”  
   
Michael nods. “Okay. Thank you.”  
   
Calum, Brendan, and Carey are in Luke and Ashton’s apartment when they arrive at it.  
   
“Hemmo!” Brendan yells when they walk in, jogging over and hugging Luke briefly.  
   
“Hi!” Luke says happily.  
   
“It’s been a minute, man,” Calum says, slapping Luke’s palm.  
   
“Are you a gangster now?” Ashton teases.  
   
“I have always been  _way_  cooler than all you white boys,” Calum answers.  
   
“I am half Ulkatcho, watch who you’re calling white.” Carey flicks Calum on the shoulder and then hugs Luke as well. His dark brown eyes sparkle as he asks, “How was the break?”  
   
“Great. Yours?”  
   
“Can’t complain. You ready for tomorrow?”  
   
Luke avoids the question for a moment by stepping further into the room and dropping his bag in front of the door to his bedroom. “I guess? Don’t have much of a choice, really.”  
   
“Cal and I will start busting heads if anyone gives you shit,” Brendan threatens, and Calum looks fully on board.  
   
“No one is going to bust anything,” Ashton interjects, cuffing Brendan on the shoulder. “Luke, if somebody gives you shit, you just ignore it, alright? Not worth getting yourself in trouble over.”  
   
“It’ll be fine.” If Luke believes it hard enough, maybe it will somehow come true. “Let’s talk about something else, okay?”  
   
“I flipped a jet-ski a few weeks ago,” Brendan says.  
   
Michael laughs. “Alright, there is a story behind that and we need to hear it immediately.”  
   
“It was a sunny Tuesday afternoon.” Brendan spreads his hands out in front of his face, preparing to paint them a picture with words.  
   
Luke catches Michael’s eye, and Michael winks and then purses his lips, sending a kiss in Luke’s direction. Luke smiles and mouths  _I love you_.  
   
*           *           *  
   
Luke dreams about Michael. He dreams they’re in bed, he’s lying on his back and Michael’s warm body is pressed up against his side, kissing his neck, his hand pushed into Luke’s boxers, fingers wrapped around Luke’s cock, stroking lazily. It’s so good. Michael’s fingers know just how to work him, pressing into all Luke’s sensitive spots, squeezing tight as his fist slides up and twisting on the way down. His lips play along Luke’s neck, sucking gently and then licking away the sting. Luke floats in it, in that place halfway between sleep and awake when dreams are extra vivid but surreal and blurry at the same time. He hears himself moan softly, feels it vibrate in his chest, and there’s a quiet chuckle next to him that sounds almost real. Luke feels warm breath on his next, feels the heat of a body plastered to his side.  
   
His brain fights, tugs him up to the surface while his body struggles to keep him asleep, and Luke’s eyes flutter open. It feels real because it is; there is a hand in his pants and lips on his neck and a half-erection pressing into his hip.  
   
“Michael,” Luke whispers groggily, still only partly conscious.  
   
“It’s me,” Michael’s soft voice. He kisses underneath Luke’s jaw and keeps stroking. His hand feels like heaven, like sexual pleasure wrapped up with the bow of how relaxed Luke is. It’s like drowning, if drowning was a good thing.  
   
“Fuck,” Luke breathes. His stomach clenches and his eyes close again. He doesn’t want to see right now. He just wants to feel. Every nerve ending in his body feels alive and dull at the same time, thrumming gently, like being drunk.  
   
“So hot, baby,” Michael murmurs. He rotates his fist around the head of Luke’s cock, coaxing lazy drops of precome out and smearing them over the slit with his thumb. Luke whimpers pathetically and his hips jerk again, fucking himself weakly into Michael’s fist. “So needy for me.”  
   
“I was dreamin’ about you,” Luke tells him. His voice barely sounds like his own, weak and raspy. Michael’s hand feels so good, Luke is just lost in it.  
   
“I know,” Michael smirks. “You were moaning.”  
   
“I was?”  
   
“Sayin’ my name. Woke me up, so I figured I’d make it real.”  
   
Luke tries to answer but the words fall away into a desperate whine as Michael strokes a little faster. His skin prickles and pleasure swells in his gut.  
   
“Gonna come for me?” Michael asks, his voice soft and rough as he kisses Luke’s neck.  
   
Luke just nods. His eyes flutter closed and his hips twitch upwards, sluggishly chasing the high, still half-asleep body wanting that blissed-out feeling. It washes over him like a warm wave, slow and intense but in a quiet way, and Michael keeps touching him until Luke gropes for his hand to get him to stop. Michael is so hard against his hip but Luke can’t move yet, can’t force his limbs to cooperate.  
   
“Just …” He laughs softly. “Gimme a minute.”  
   
Michael smiles against his neck, and slides him arm around Luke’s waist, snuggling in closer. “We have all day.”  
   
“We don’t, actually,” Luke reminds him.  
   
“We have the morning, at least. The thing doesn’t start until noon.”  
   
“All morning,” Luke muses, smiling. “What should we do?”  
   
“We should stay night here and make you come so many times you won’t be able to walk up and down a golf course.”  
   
Luke laughs. “Definitely tempting. I don’t know, though. That might be embarrassing.”  
   
“Are you nervous?” Michael asks.  
   
“A little,” Luke says honestly. “It’s our first … you know. People know, now. So it’ll be weird.”  
   
“You don’t need to answer any questions you don’t want to. Anything they ask, if it makes you feel uncomfortable you just say  _no comment_  and move onto the next question.”  
   
“Do you think it’ll be that bad?” Luke worries.  
   
“I’ll be right there with you,” Michael promises.  
   
“Okay.” Luke manages to lift his arms and get them around Michael, hugging him, pulling Michael in just a little closer to his chest. Then he rolls over on top of Michael and kisses him, pushing his thigh down into Michael’s hard cock. Michael smiles against his lips.  
   
*           *           *  
   
The flash of cameras and reporters yelling for him to look in a certain direction and smile is something Luke won’t ever get used to. Luckily it doesn’t happen all that often. He doesn’t know how actual celebrities deal with this. There isn’t anyone waiting for Luke when he comes out of his house, following him to the grocery store, sneaking onto the roof on an adjacent building to snap pictures of him and Michael in bed. When he is faced with reporters it’s in a very controlled situation, like now, but Luke still doesn’t like it.  
   
“Did your family meet Michael?” a woman is asking him. She’s pretty, maybe in her early thirties and blond, but her eyebrows are intimidating. They’re too perfect.  
   
“Um. Yeah,” Luke says, scratching the back of his neck anxiously. She’s the fourth reporter he’s spoken to today, and none of them tip-toed around any of it. Luke hates that they’re just allowed to ask him these things. That he isn’t allowed to turn the hot-seat on them and ask about who they have sex with. It isn’t fair, just because he’s semi-famous, that the whole world is entitled to know about things that should be private.  
   
“How did it go?”  
   
“It was good. Not weird. Everybody was fine.” Luke is defensive about it, even though she isn’t suggesting otherwise.  
   
“You haven’t been back with your teammates until now, is that going to be weird? And soon when you’re back together on the ice?”  
   
It’s the type of question Luke dreads, but the expression on her face is kind and genuinely curious, so Luke tries to remember that she’s just doing her job. Somebody probably told her to ask.  
   
“I don’t think so. A lot of them already knew, it … I don’t know. Like, some people knew. I don’t think we hid it all that well or … whatever.” Luke cringes inside and hopes it doesn’t show on his face because there’s a camera on it. He’s really not enjoying this.  
   
“That’s good to hear.” She smiles, and it seems honest. “There’s never been an openly same-sex couple in the NHL before, so I imagine it’s been a bit complicated. What’s this been like on the business end? Are you getting pressure from Therrien or Bergevin to act a certain way, or to avoid saying certain things to the press?”  
   
Luke’s been around their general manager, Marc Bergevin, enough times, but he wouldn’t exactly say they have a relationship. He’s fairly hands-off, as far as GMs go. He leaves most things to the coach.  
   
“Not really. Not yet, I guess? I don’t know.” Luke must sound so stupid. He wishes he had the confidence to be cool about this like Michael does. Michael’s down at the other end of the press line, Luke can see him out of the corner of his eye, and he’s talking to two reporters at once, looking stoic but not panicking like Luke is.  
   
He looks back at the woman with the microphone, and she squints at him and then turns to her cameraman and says, “Okay, shut it off.”  
   
“We’re supposed to get – ” the guy begins, but she cuts him off.  
   
“I know. Turn it off. Look at him, he’s hating this.”  
   
“Mitch said – ”  
   
“I know what Mitch said.” She glares at him, daring him to contradict her again. “He’s a  _kid_ , Jim. I’m not doing this to him for the sake of a story. It’s not right.”  
   
Jim sighs, but he listens. He doesn’t seem to be the one calling the shots anyway. The camera comes down off his shoulder and he flicks a switch on it, rolling his eyes as he does.  
   
“Good luck,” the woman tells Luke, with a smile and then she motions for Ashton, who’s coming up behind Luke.  
   
“You okay?” Ashton asks quietly, while Jim sets his camera back up.  
   
“Yeah.”  
   
“Almost over,” Ashton promises, and then turns to the camera and smiles. His interview begins and Luke is shuffled down the line to the next set of microphones.  
   
Luke focuses on  _almost over_ , and fumbles his way through the next few interviews. No one is particularly rude, so Luke is thankful for that. Hopefully the answers he gives are so broken and stuttered that they won’t be usable anyway. Luke is not excited for his family seeing his face plastered all over Sports Centre looking like a moron who can’t string a sentence together. And Liz is going to be mad that reporters are suggesting she might not be okay with the gender of Luke’s choice in romantic partner. Luke can picture her without even being there, steam coming out of her ears are the mere idea.  
   
After the interviews, they’re all taken to a common room in the hospital, filled with children in various states of disrepair. Some seem only mildly injured, others make Luke cringe and want to cry. Kids should never have to deal with things like cancer. Luke gets paired with a small, freckled girl – maybe seven or eight years old – with missing baby teeth and curly brown hair. She’s in a wheelchair, a cast on each leg and one arm in a sling. There are old bruises on her face, and a few stitches under one eye. She looks like she was hit by a train, but she smiles widely when he approaches her.  
   
“I watched you on TV!” she tells him excitedly, a slight lisp to her voice because of the gap in her smile.  
   
“That’s so cool!” Luke says, sitting down next to her and holding out his hand. “I’m Luke.”  
   
She slips her tiny fingers into his palm and shakes his hand, firmer and more grown-up than Luke was expecting. “I’m Kathryn.”  
   
“It’s nice to meet you. How did you get so broken?” Luke asks, pointing to her casts and trying to make it a joke.  
   
“A car hit my mom’s car while we were in it,” Kathryn says, sounding serious. “It went around in circles like a roller coaster.”  
   
“That sounds really scary.”  
   
“Yeah.” She shrugs. “I guess. But there’s kids in here who can’t walk ever, and I can someday. Not too long from now, they say my legs will be all healed and then I can go back to playing soccer. I miss soccer.” The words don’t sound like her own. They sound rehearsed and parroted back as if she’s been hearing them for days and has decided to start pretending she believes it so people will stop trying to make her feel better.  
   
Luke inches a little closer and talks quietly, so only she can hear him. “Do you know who Michael Clifford is?”  
   
“The one with the hair,” she answers immediately. “He’s good, too. Scores lots of goals.”  
   
Luke smiles. “Yes, he does. And you know what? He was in a car accident too.”  
   
Kathryn’s eyes widen. “He was?”  
   
“Yep. Just a few months ago. He wasn’t hurt as bad as you, though, you must be really brave. He couldn’t play hockey for a long time, but soon he can again. Just like you and soccer.”  
   
Kathryn strains her neck to look around Luke, searching for the subject of their conversation, and Luke spots his blond head first and points him out. He’s on the other side of the room talking to a young teenage boy, bald from chemo and hooked to machines. The boy is grinning, though, and so is Michael, telling some kind of animated story that’s making the boy and his parents laugh. Luke suppresses a fond smile.  
   
“He doesn’t look broken,” Kathryn says softly.  
   
“He isn’t anymore. He was. And now he’s better. You’ll be better, too. Really soon, I bet. Maybe you’ll even be better at soccer once you’re out of those casts. Your bones will be even stronger.”  
   
“You think?”  
   
“I do.”  
   
Kathryn observes him closely, a thoughtful look on her small face like she’s trying to work out if he’s lying. When she decides he isn’t, she taps him on the arm and beckons him closer.  
   
“Is he your boyfriend?” she whispers, when Luke leans in, as if it’s an important secret.  
   
Luke’s heart skips a beat. “Yes,” he whispers back. “Did somebody tell you that?”  
   
“My brother. He said it was gross.”  
   
“Oh.” Luke swallows.  
   
“I don’t think it’s gross, though, because I have an older sister too and she has a boyfriend and it isn’t gross. And he’s nice to me. He brought me flowers after I was in here.”  
   
Luke nods. “That’s really cool.”  
   
“My mom yelled at my brother when he said that.”  
   
“It wasn’t a very nice thing to say,” Luke agrees.  
   
“Are you in love and stuff?”  
   
“Um. Yeah, we are.”  
   
“Do you think you’ll get married? ‘Cause if you’re in love you have to get married.” She informs him of it like she’s concerned he didn’t know.  
   
Luke can’t help the smile on his face. “Maybe one day.”  
   
“By the time I can walk again?”  
   
“Maybe.”  
   
“That’s good. Wanna sign my cast?”  
   
Luke laughs. “Sure.”  
   
“Which one?”  
   
Pulling the Sharpie marker from his pocket that Luke brought for autographs, he answers, “How about all three.”  
   
*           *           *  
   
Luke is still hopelessly bad at golfing. He has fun, though. The teams were selected randomly so Michael isn’t on his, but Calum is. Then there’s a big group dinner when it’s over, so he sits between Michael and Ashton, and they get a few looks, a few people eyeing them sideways, wait-staff included which Luke has half a mind to find a manager and formally complain about, but somewhere along the way Luke decides he doesn’t care. It was the little girl, at the hospital earlier. It didn’t matter to her, that Luke loves Michael. She didn’t know why it should matter to anyone.  
   
“How was today?” Michael asks quietly, from to the left of Luke. “We didn’t get a chance to talk before.”  
   
Luke looks at him and smiles. “I love you. That’s the only important thing.” The person sitting on the other side of Michael, Luke doesn’t know, and he definitely heard what Luke said. Luke could not possibly care less.  
   
Michael grins and shakes his head fondly. “Dork.”  
   
“No take-backs now, Clifford. You’re already mine, so. You’re stuck with me.”  
   
Michael leans in and kisses Luke’s cheek, even though they’re in a room full of people. “Couldn’t be happier about it.”


	29. epilogue

_Four months later_  
   
It’s snowing. Fat, gentle flakes are falling softly, floating down from the sky in the lack of wind. It’s a still, quiet night, and it makes Luke feel like Christmas even though the holiday is still a few weeks away. The snow dances in the crisp air, illuminated by the streetlights. They look like diamonds, like the night is sparkling. It’s appropriate, given the time of year. Everything is sparkling everywhere else anyway. Luke hasn’t been into a store in a month without leaving it covered in glitter. He’s sick of carols already, and it’s the first week of December.  
   
Tonight, though, feels like a little bit of that Christmas magic is in the air, the kind cheesy movies are always going on about. Michael is going to come home with Luke this year. Calum’s sister has been in Europe for six months and won’t be back until February, so they’re going to have their holiday celebrations then. His parents are going to an all-inclusive in Mexico, and Calum is going to meet Mali in Paris for a week. Michael’s dad is in jail, now, for real. For five years. Two for child abuse, three for aggravated assault with a motor vehicle. He  _should_  have been charged with attempted murder, but his lawyer was good and Luke couldn’t be bothered with specifics, as long as the man ended up behind bars. So Michael had no choice but to accept Luke’s invitation to spend Christmas with his family. He’s excited. Michael is going to be so cranky when Luke wakes him up on the 25th before sunrise. He can hardly wait.  
   
He stares out the window, forgetting time for a moment or two as he watches the silent ballet of flakes falling from the dark blue sky. Then movement catches his eye, a figure trudging through the snow on the sidewalk far below, wrapped in shadows but Luke can tell who it is anyway. He’s been waiting. He goes to the buzzer, prepared to hit the button and let Ashton up as soon as he calls.  
   
Luke has a plan.  
   
A month ago he was hanging out at Michael’s apartment – where he is again now – and he was cold. Michael’s windows need to be resealed, but the landlord hasn’t gotten to it yet. His place is drafty in the frigid cold of Canadian winter. Michael was in the shower. Luke briefly considered joining him there as a solution to his temperature problem; it would certainly be warm. But he changed his mind. Putting his naked body in close proximity to Michael’s would inevitably lead to adult activities they didn’t have time for that night. They’d had tickets to see a local grunge band at a bar Luke can’t believe no one’s ever been murdered in. Instead, Luke went digging through Michael’s closet for his favorite of Michael’s many hoodies – the black and yellow blink-182 one. It’s too big and it’s so soft and comfortable, wearing it feels like getting a hug from a giant life-sized teddy bear. It smells like Michael, too. Luke steals it a lot.  
   
He didn’t find the sweater. Instead he found a stack of old boxes, maybe six of them, sealed with yellowing, pealing packing tape and covered in dust like they’d been unattended for the two years Michael had lived here. The shower had shut off just then, so Luke closed the closet door, picked a rumpled green flannel off Michael’s floor instead to pull on over his goose-bumped arms, and left the room.  
   
A week later he went back, because he couldn’t get the boxes out of his head. Luke’s never been any good at letting things go. He needed to know what was in them. Asking Michael about them would have been a smarter move, but Luke’s never been that kind of smart. He’s a shoot-first-ask-questions-later sort of person. It’s the athlete in him. Hockey moves too fast. If he takes that split second to doubt himself, the moment is already gone. Luke waited until Michael was in the shower again, listening for the pipes to bang and the sound of cascading water to fill the air before he snuck back to Michael’s bedroom. He peeled the old tape back carefully, from the top box, to keep it from ripping so he could put it back when he was done. He didn’t want Michael to know he was here. Michael would have told Luke about these boxes if he’d wanted Luke to know, and that’s exactly why Luke needed to know anyway. When Michael keeps secrets, it’s because he thinks the withheld information is something that will make someone else pity him. It’s why he never told Luke how bad it was with his father, when he was younger. He didn’t want Luke to feel sorry for him.  
   
Luke got the tape off enough to gently lift the corner of a cardboard flap, using the flashlight on his iPhone to see in the dark space. What he found was not at all what he expected. Luke didn’t even know  _what_  he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t Christmas decorations. Luke didn’t need to open the rest of the boxes to know they were all the same. Six boxes of sparkles and reindeer and Santas with red cheeks. They were  _hers_ , Luke realized with a sickening twist in his gut. They belonged to Michael’s mother. Michael kept them, all these years. He took them from his childhood home when his dad kicked him out of it. He found some place to store them while he was living with Calum’s family, and then brought them here, after he was drafted. Luke was in Michael’s apartment last year around the holidays. Michael never put anything up. There wasn’t an inch of his place last year that looked like Christmas. He doesn’t use them. But he hasn’t thrown them out.  
   
It was really, really difficult for Luke to keep from letting a tear or two spill down his cheeks while he pressed the tape back onto cardboard with his fingers and closed the closet door once again. Michael came into the room a few minutes later to find Luke sitting on the bed, his mind spinning, and Luke had pulled Michael’s damp, shower-warm body down into his arms and wrapped around him like a starfish. Michael laughed and asked, but Luke promised nothing was wrong and Michael seemed to believe him. Even still, he was extra clingy that night. Luke is clingy on  _good_  days, and that was a bad day.  
   
Now, he’s determined to fix this. To take a terrible memory for Michael, something he’s been carrying like a cross for too many years, and make it a better one. That’s why Ashton is on his way up. Luke told his friends what he’d found, and what he was planning, and Calum agreed to take Michael out for dinner tonight so Luke could orchestrate it all without Michael walking in at the wrong time. They only have an hour or two at most, though, so it would be nice if Ashton could pick up the pace a little.  
   
“Took you long enough,” he grumps at his roommate, when Ashton walks through the door, his hair and shoulders dusted with melting snowflakes.  
   
Ashton shakes his head, fluffing his sandy-colored curls so the white dots fall out. He has a date later, and if his hair goes frizzy on him because it got wet, he’ll blame Luke. As if Luke has the ability to control the weather. “It’s like the damn apocalypse out there.”  
   
“It’s a few feet of snow.”  
   
“Which is a few feet more than we ever got in Charleston.”  
   
“How is there even hockey in South Carolina?”  
   
“The ‘Canes play in Raleigh, dude. That’s only a few hours away.” Ashton shrugs out of his coat and hangs it on a hook stuck to the back of the door. “Did you start?”  
   
“Sort of.” Luke gestures around the room, at opened boxes and a mess of decorations littering the couch and coffee table. “I don’t know how to do this.”  
   
“You never decorated for Christmas before?” Ashton raises his eyebrows.  
   
“My house was always all decked out. But it was my mom. I’ve never done it personally. Why, have you?”  
   
“I used to help.” Ashton picks up a small stuffed elf and examines it. “Mom did the bulk, but I helped out. For the kids. I wanted them to believe in Santa longer than I got to.”  
   
Ashton’s own life-story of fatherly abandonment isn’t nearly as sad as Michael’s, or as violent, but it isn’t ideal either.  Luke takes for granted, sometimes, how great his family is. He’s really looking forward to Michael being a part of it.  
   
“Okay, so where does all this stuff go, then?”  
   
Ashton shrugs. “Anywhere. It doesn’t matter. Just start putting things on available surfaces.”  
   
“Should we get a tree?” Luke asks, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. He runs his tongue over the small black ring on the left side. He got that done a few weeks ago, because Michael mentioned he thought it would be hot. It was an off-hand comment; he hadn’t been seriously suggesting Luke high-tail it to a tattoo parlor the next day and have a stranger punch a metal bar through his face, but that’s more or less what Luke did. He’s a little whipped, maybe, but he’s alright with that. He has to take the ring out during games, which is annoying. And it isn’t easy to keep clean, when he basically sweats for a living. But it’s worth it to see the way Michael’s eyes go dark when Luke chews at it, the way Michael’s own lips are attracted to it like a magnet.  
   
“I thought we only have like an hour,” Ashton points out. He grabs a length of red and gold ribbon and motions for Luke to help him drape it over the limestone mantle. Michael’s fireplace is fake, a gas heater and a lighting system that vaguely mimics flames, but it still counts. “You really wanna go out there in the storm of the century and find a tree? We don’t even know if there’s ornaments for it.”  
   
“It’s seriously barely even snowing. You’ve been an honorary Canadian for longer than I have, how has this place not toughened you up yet? And there actually are ornaments. In that box.” Luke points at one on the floor. “Like, sentimental ones.  _Baby’s first Christmas_ , ones like that.”  
   
Luke had come close to losing his composure when he opened that box twenty minutes ago. The first ornament he’d picked up, a Santa wearing skates and with a hockey stick in his hand, had “ _to Michael, love Mom – 2005”_ written on it with a Sharpie marker in casually messy handwriting. It tugged so hard at Luke’s heartstrings he had to put the box down and unpack the others instead.  
   
“Oh.” Ashton looks in the direction Luke’s pointing and winces. “I’m sorry, this … this sucks, huh? Knowing he kept all this stuff, and never told you.”  
   
Luke shrugs, and swallows over the lump of emotion in his throat. “It’s okay. You’re right, we don’t have time to get a tree. Maybe he and I will get one together, another night. If this goes over well.”  
   
“It will.”  
   
“Unless he’s pissed that I went through his closet.”  
   
“There’s no way. He’s so in love with you it’s hard to even look at sometimes.” Ashton shakes his head and starts arranging a set of mini Nativity figures on the coffee table. “He’s gonna love this.”  
   
They work mostly in silence, pausing now and then to laugh at how ugly some of the decorations are, because it’s easier than focusing on how long it’s been since Michael’s seen any of these things. Luke surveys the result when they’re finished, and it looks cluttered and tacky as hell but he thinks that’s probably what Michael’s house used to look like, when all these things were in it, so it’s perfect.  
   
“He’s definitely gonna cry,” Ashton surmises. “In a good way, though.”  
   
“I hope so.”  
   
Luke’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out to find a text from Calum announcing they’re a few minutes away. “Just in time,” he says, showing Ashton and then putting it away.  
   
They wait, not speaking because Luke is too nervous to make idle conversation, until the rumble of footsteps drifts in from the hallway. Luke’s heart leaps into his throat.  
   
“Okay, there, you walked me all the way to my actual door, you giant freak,” Michael grumbles as they walk in. “Can you – ”  
   
He stops short, not expecting to see Luke and Ashton in what he thought was an empty apartment. He frowns at them, and then his face changes as he sees everything else. Luke’s heart beats so quickly it hurts in his chest; it must be so loud the whole room can hear it. Michael looks around, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open.  
   
“You …” He can’t finish. He looks at Luke helplessly, shaking his head just slightly.  
   
“I should go,” Ashton says. He squeezes Michael’s shoulder as he passes, grabbing his coat.  
   
“Merry Christmas, Mikey,” Calum says, the biggest grin on his face; the kind that makes his dark eyes crinkle at the edges. He and Ashton make their exit, the door swinging shut behind them.  
   
Luke swallows nervously, cringing internally. “Please say something.”  
   
“How did …?”  
   
“I found them. In your closet. I didn’t mean to, I was looking for something else, but then I …” Luke bites his lip ring again. This was a huge mistake, he knew it. He should never have snooped. “I knew they meant something to you. I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have …”  
   
“Luke.” Michael shakes his head for the second time, and then he laughs, and then his eyes go shiny. He looks like he’s feeling more right now than his mind can keep up with. Like he’s on the verge of falling apart. “Luke.”  
   
“I’ll take them down,” Luke says quickly, but Michael just walks further into the room, his boots leaving a trail of slush behind him as he wanders, examining things he probably hasn’t set eyes on in nearly five years. Luke watches him apprehensively, still halfway expecting Michael to just start yelling about invasions of privacy and Luke learning to keep his nose out of where it doesn’t belong. Luke’s never been very good at that.  
   
Michael turns back to him, though, with wet eyes and flushed cheeks. His voice trembles as he whispers, “It … it’s like she’s here.”  
   
Luke’s heart bursts, or maybe breaks, he can’t be sure, and he closes the distance between them and drags Michael roughly into a hug. Michael’s arms slide around Luke’s waist and his face finds Luke’s neck. His breath is hot and muggy against Luke’s skin, coming in quick, shallow pants. He kisses Michael’s hair and holds him tight enough to hurt, to bruise. It doesn’t matter. They’re always bruised.  
   
“I hated this shit when I was younger.” Michael laughs a little, breathless and emotional. “It was so embarrassing, when my friends would come over. Their families just had a tree and a wreath or two, and my house looked like it had been attacked by elves. And then … after she was gone, I … I couldn’t throw it out. Any of it. I didn’t even like it, but I couldn’t. Luke, I just … I couldn’t.”  
   
“I’m sorry I went through your stuff,” Luke says, because everything else is too much. He can’t think about Michael, young and alone, having to go through his dead mother’s things and decide what to keep and what to never see again.  
   
“No,” Michael breathes. “Thank you.”  
   
Luke nudges Michael’s face up with his own, sliding his mouth over Michael’s in a soft, heartfelt kiss. He pours everything he has into it, wanting Michael to absorb how much Luke loves him through warm passes of their lips. Michael exhales and his breath shakes, sounding overwhelmed but happy. Luke is right there with him.  
   
“Merry Christmas,” Luke murmurs. He brushes his lips over Michael’s heated cheek, the pale echo of a kiss while they hold onto each other in a room filled with memories. Old memories for Michael, and new ones for Luke.  
   
Michael’s fingers slip underneath the back of Luke’s shirt. It’s become a compulsion. He touches Luke’s bare skin like it gives him oxygen, like he needs it to live. “I love you, so fucking much.”  
   
“Me too. To the moon and back.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: I do not personally know, represent, or profit off of using the likeness of any of the following real people (in order of appearance):  
> Luke Hemmings // Ben Hemmings // Sidney Crosby // Jack Hemmings  
> Liz Hemmings // Michel Therrien // Ashton Irwin // Jonathan Toews  
> Alexander Ovechkin // Patrick Kane // Carey Price // Brendan Gallagher  
> Alexei Emelin // Nathan Beaulieu // Calum Hood // Michael Clifford  
> Brandon Prust // Tomas Plekanec // Max Pacioretty // Brett Lernout  
> Nikita Sherbak // Dustin Tokarski // P.K. Subban // Henrik Lundqvist  
> Shea Weber // Lars Eller // James Riemer // Dion Phaneuf  
> Andy Hemmings // Erik Karlsson // Andrew Hammond // Mark Stone  
> Johnny Gadreau // Aaron Ekblad // Kris Letang // Evgeni Malkin  
> Marc Bergevin //  
> 


End file.
